


Greensleeves

by KanraTheTeddyB3ar



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aenor is an asshole, Apostates, Barris trying to be a smooth mofo, Blood Magic, Bold Flirting, Dalish Elves, F/F, F/M, Gen, Ideas from songs, LITERALLY, M/M, Mages and Templars, Non-Linear Narrative, ON HER ARMS, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prolly gonna fail, Staff-less Magic Use, Vallaslin, Venatori, What is it with Chantry Boys?, attempt at slow build, but that's okay since he's still a cutie pie, he totes fails, if that's even a thing, mostly canon-compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-05-22 00:20:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 30,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6063652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KanraTheTeddyB3ar/pseuds/KanraTheTeddyB3ar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being an apostate, as well as a maleficar, during a mage-Templar war, with a big, green, obnoxious hole in the sky and an insane darkspawn magister on the loose was not Silva's cup of tea. Which was how the Dalish-raised shem found herself working for the Inquisition. Upon being summoned to Skyhold, however, she knew it was a matter of time before one of the Templars learned of her origins. It was in the intricate green vallaslin flowing down her arms, in her wild blonde hair and most often dirty tan skin, in her ever-wary gray-blue gaze. She underestimated how soon it would be...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silva

**Author's Note:**

> There is a serious lack of Ser Barris love, so I thought I'd help spread it. The song that inspired Silva's name is Silva Maleficus, composed by Peter Gundry. Look him up on YouTube, guys, you won't regret it. Also, I'm really into Dragon Age at the moment, but could never write just the right fanfic. And now, I have.
> 
> Please note that while I am trying to be as canon-compliant as I possibly can be, some of my own headcanons will most likely slip into this. Please, don't hate me too much. At any rate, enjoy the fanfic!

 Feet pounding on the grassy floor, breath coming in puffs. The cool wind cutting through her barbaric dress as though she were wearing nothing at all, _just a bit further_. She all but leaps into the clearing where Inquisition soldiers stand ready to cut down the Venatori behind her. Spins around almost elegantly, glad blood-lust in her eyes. She doesn't need a staff for her to work magic, and the soldiers charging all around her know it.

Blood goes firing towards a Venatori spellbinder, exploding upon contact with its target. The soldiers, her comrades, know she is a maleficar, but they keep it secret. No reason for concern is given, for she would not use it on them. The spellbinder screams as he falls back, not for long as a sword enters his throat, rending flesh and sending hot flecks of blood flying, more for her spells.

When the battle ends, there are some wounded, but not dead. The wounded are seen to by healers, for she is not one. She is a battle mage, and has been since day one. Fighting to survive when fights with the clan's First became too much, researching for ways for a mage to defend oneself. Fell into blood magic, and hasn't looked back since.

She climbs into a tree, and only pulls down a sleeve to look at the vallaslin that decorates both her arms. A parting gift from the clan's Keeper, a way to mark her as touched, as well as a bargaining tool with other clans. Keeps them hidden, safe, protected, makes her look a little more normal.

"Silva!" A call, the commander, waving from below her. "Letter for you from Sister Nightingale." The witch-woman nodded, hopping down from the tree, she takes the letter and opens it.

_Greensleeves,_

_Report to Skyhold. There's something I wish to discuss with you. Details on arrival._

_Sister Nightingale._

Skyhold. Not good, not safe. Especially with Templars running about, freely, unchecked. Serving the Inquisition from the shadows, out in the field, always a plus. Keeps her origins secret. Going there, with all those Templars, a maleficar apostate who had never been caged in her life. Joy of joys, that.

\---

Somber, yet not, is how she would describe Skyhold. Rising up like a beacon, but a beacon of what? She had to fight the urge to flee as she was escorted to the keep by Templar soldiers, some of which gave her dirty looks. The moment she entered the courtyard, she was escorted to a bathing area. Turning up her nose, but she bathes all the same, and even has her hair brushed. Must be important, as she accepts a less revealing dress. Refused the slippers, preferring her leather booties. A bit of rebellion never hurt.

Makes her way to Sister Nightingale, desperate to hide her marks. Bad enough the elven apostate was giving her looks as she passed. The gown is a bit sheer, more likely to reveal her vallaslin if she isn't careful.

"You must be Greensleeves." Sister Nightingale greets, a smile on her lips. Game time already. "I admit I was not expecting to find a mage of... your talents among my spies. Do you not worry you will be caught?"

"I have remained hidden for years." She counters. "I can hide again, if I wished. There are many places to hide. I wish to set the world-my world-right again. Being caught is the least of my concerns. Do my... talents bother you?"

"No, I am just surprised." Sister Nightingale seemingly loosens. "It would be best for the Templars to not catch wind of this."

\---

"And you're sure of this?" One voice asks another. A nod in the darkness. "This cannot be allowed to stand. You know what must be done."

The jingle of coin, a contract made. If the other were to smile, the one did not notice.

"Silva Maleficus will die, messere." The other stated. "This I swear."


	2. Maleficar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told myself I was going to wait for 20 hits before posting Chapter 2, I swear. I couldn't wait.

It's in the look the Tevinter gives her that tells her he knows. How much, she cannot say. He gives only a look as she passes, enough to set teeth on edge. Tugs at the sleeves, still not enough to cover her vallaslin. She wants out, needs out, away from Skyhold, anywhere but there.

Breathes a sigh of relief as she steps onto the battlements, looking at the valley below. There, there she could blend in, be normal, feel normal. A bitter wind blows off the mountains, longings for home, melancholy take her. She lets herself drown in them, for a moment, the memories of home, of a clan that had cared for her, accepted her.

The thud of boots behind her, a dagger unsheathed. She turns, calling upon her magics to levitate the would-be assassin off the ground. Dagger falls to the stone with a clang, and she smiles, though her eyes look in both directions. Then, through his blood, she sends him flying off the battlements to the rock below, bounces once before disappearing out of sight.

"Idiot." She says, mostly to herself. Leaves the battlements, but turns to see a gaping guard, and behind them, the Inquisitor herself. _Shit_. She had not been careful enough. Dashes off, looking for a place to hide. Skyhold is huge, how is there _not_ a place to hide? Searches high and low, and finds herself in a room just down a staircase from the antechamber. Through a door to find herself in a dusty study, with towering shelves. None will think to find her here.

A knock on the door two hours later, and a voice, calm and cool, Sister Nightingale. Opens the door, takes a look at her, and smiles. She shakes her head, and steps into the room, closing the door behind her.

"A turncoat amongst our ranks, it seems." Sister Nightingale says. "No need to worry, Greensleeves. I've smoothed things over with the Inquisitor, but I will require that you stay here for the time being. It's not safe for you to be in the field at this time. I must request, on our Commander's behalf, that you refrain from using your magic. Gave the guards a scare."

"My apologies, Sister Nightingale." Silva apologized. "I was not careful when using my talents. The fault is entirely my own. Perhaps I should apologize to the Inquisition soldiers? Smooth things over?"

"As I said, no need." Sister Nightingale smiles then. "A mage from Tevinter, Dorian Pavus, wishes to speak with you. Or perhaps study you. He asked about your... vallaslin."

Silva nodded, consigning herself to her fate. The Tevinter had no right asking about her markings, they were her's, and they were private. But still, she went to the library, and walked up to the Tevinter, raising a brow. Then, a yank, breaking the seams of the sleeves, pulling them off her arms, exposure of her vallaslin at last. Holding out an arm, he grasps it gently, afraid, but of what? Her?

"Normally there are introductions before people start throwing themselves at me." He jests to break the ice, and she rolls her eyes. "I suppose Sister Leliana told you, but I am Dorian Pavus. And you are?"

"Silva." She says, short, curt. "But you shall call me Greensleeves." A command, not a request. None but those she trusts can call her Silva, though not even they are privy to the name the clan gave her.

"Greensleeves it is." He says, still studying her vallaslin. He is handsome, in a fashion, she supposes.

Spends the evening out on the battlements, a Templar watching her from the shadows not too far off. Wearing her forest dress, one that barely covers her lower torso due to the large slits that reveal a pair of well-rounded hips and long legs. Another wind, bitter, biting, but welcome. Metal armor clanking, clunking, leather boots softly treading towards her. Hand on her shoulder, cold armor seeping through, as if trying to reach her very soul.

"Are you Greensleeves?" A question, the voice male, rich, homey. It touches a heart long since frozen, but she pays it no mind. No room for love in a maleficar's heart.

"I am."

"I am Ser Delrin Barris. I was told to look after you."

Sister Nightingale's work. Turns slowly, and finds herself frozen. Green eyes stare into her being, surrounded by long lashes, lips turning up in a friendly smile. Heart skips a beat, as fear and longing flood her system.

"Will Ser Barris work?" She asks, her voice a mere tremor. A nod, a squeeze, and he backs away, hand outstretched. A smile, the first allowed on full pink lips, as she makes her way towards the stairs and back to the mage quarters-such as they were.

\---

"Are you certain?" Inquisitor Trevelyan asks, a bemused smile on her hot pink lips. Why she went with pink, Cullen didn't know, but Maker damn him if it wasn't the most arousing color in Thedas. Especially on her.

"Yes, Persephone." He replies, a smirk as she rolls her teal eyes. He only calls her by her name in private, and mostly when he's teasing her or doing... things. "You should have heard the way he talked about her. Looks like you're shaping up to be quite the matchmaker."

"What can I say? Cole is a good instructor when he's making sense." She laughed, and he let himself drown in the sound. "No doubt Varric will find a way to joke about it, straight out of a romance novel he could never write. The apostate and the Templar. Makes me wish I was a mage so I could experience that kind of romance firsthand."

"You're perfect the way you are." He interjected, jumping out of his chair to bring her into his arms. The twinkle in her eyes told him that she knew that-or, at the very least, believed him. The one thing that surprised him was that she doubted herself, when every move she made was made with confidence. It also calmed him, a bit at least, to know that this seemingly perfect woman wasn't afraid to show him her darker parts as much as he had shown his.

"I love you." She says, the twinkle now replaced with a more... intimate stare. "Come away with me."

"Always, love." He replies, following her to her chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments give me life. And perhaps some fan art? #totesnotbegging
> 
> Also, for those wondering how Silva knew it was an assassin; she heard some guards complaining about missing daggers. As well as saw that none of them carried daggers. She is an apostate, kinda have to be more observant that usual, y'know? Also, plot.
> 
> And for those wondering why Barris was told to look after her? Plot.


	3. Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will most likely have Chapter 4 up sometime later, so... yeah. The fic practically writes itself.

The stars are the same, but they are not her's. Never her's. It has been five days since the attempt on her life, and the stars have moved on, but they aren't _her's_ , they're _his_ , and that frustrates her. That the very stars danced for him now is vexing, frustrating, infuriating. What right had he to take the pleasure of stars? Long was the light of the stars her council, and for them to be gone was outrageous to her.

Five days, and she felt the immediate attraction between herself and Ser Delrin Barris, Knight-Commander of the remaining Templar forces. That, and the fear. Once this was all over, and the insane darkspawn magister... thing was well and truly dead, he would do his duty. All Templars did, as Keeper had taught her. "Justice" for the crime of using a school of magic the Chantry didn't like. "Justice" for not letting herself be locked in a gilded cage 'til her body was wizened and turned to ash.

She lets out a huff as a _poof_ sounds beside her. She ignores it, knowing it to be the spirit, drawn to her frustration, wishing to "help."

"Stars shine bright, his, all his." He mutters quietly beside her. "Maleficar, blood mage, do it to survive, but what is survival? Clan, home, name that is and is not, true name hidden, deep. I can help."

"I do not want your help, spirit." Reply icy as the snow on the mountains. "Go and bother another.

"Wild hair, eyes wary, glowers when she thinks no one sees." He muttered once more. "Apostate, maleficar, dangerous, but trustworthy. Maker forgive me, Andraste forgive me, she is beautiful. Too much leg, too much skin, back to training! Feels it too, but holds back, a wall of ice. How to chip away?" At that, her gray-blue eyes meet the spirit's. Shock runs through when she realizes whose thoughts he voiced.

"Wishes there was a way." She says, voicing thoughts not to be voiced. "Maleficar, apostate, no room for attraction. Folly, chasing, but the want to give in is strong. There might not be a way." A sigh. "Go to him, Cole. Tell him what I have told you. Give these thoughts a voice they would not have. With luck, he'll understand."

"Understand, please, Creators, let him understand." He says, then poofs off. Continues her prayer, that he might end this... whatever it was. Creators forgive her, she didn't have the will.

\---

Ser Delrin Barris did not have knee-jerk reactions. He did not draw his sword unless it was necessary. A young man _poofing_ onto Commander Cullen's desk, however, is another thing entirely. He just barely kept his hand from his blade, even as the Commander unsheathed his. A few breaths later, he sheathed it, letting out a sigh.

"Cole." The Commander drawls, annoyance in his tone. "If you are looking for Per-er, I mean, the Inquisitor, she's gone to her quarters."

"Not her." The young man, Cole, says. He then points a thin finger at Ser Barris. "Him. _She_ sent me, wants me to help, wants to stop before-eyes like emeralds, seeing and not, a small smile. Heart leaps, doesn't want it, shouldn't want it, Creators, please. _She_ wants to give in, to thaw the ice. Maleficar, apostate, only safe while Corypheus lives. Would he want, choose, if the Chantry's restored?"

"She?" Ser Barris looks to the Commander, who shrugs.

"Maker forgive me, the thoughts that permeate the night." Cole mutters, picking at a glove. "Beautiful and dangerous, willful, almost storybook. _She_. Greensleeves. Help her. Understand, Creators, let him understand. Wants to give in, but isn't sure. Help." With that, he poofs away. Ser Barris and the Commander stare at each other for a moment.

"The Inquisitor, Commander?" Ser Barris smirks, breaking the silence. The Commander waves a hand dismissively, and Ser Barris leaves. What he suspected was true. She felt it, wanted it. Wanted _him_.

Maker, this was going to be a long night.


	4. Name

It was all over Skyhold, the rumor. It made Leliana positively giddy at times, knowing she had so expertly maneuvered the two thus far. It was the Inquisitor's idea, but she knew to leave Leliana to her work. If anything, she hoped that it would calm tensions between the Inquisition mages and their Templar allies. It made her wish for her dear friend Ophelia, but the mage-woman was currently in Redcliffe alongside Arl Teagan, counting the days to announce their marriage. It also made her miss Guinevere, her confidante and love.

It had been a week and three days since the attempt on Greensleeves' life. She and Ser Barris were no closer than before, but sometimes she would stop, in the courtyard, in the garden, by the stables, and speak to him. Their conversations were short. Painstakingly short. At least, they seemed to be for Ser Barris, the way he'd stare at her after. It was adorable.

It reminded her of when Guinevere and she got together.

\---

He wasn't sure if she did it on purpose, or out of habit, but Greensleeves had a certain... gait. He theorized it was from walking in the thick underbrush of forests for so long, the way she carefully placed her feet, seemingly oblivious to the sensual sway of her hips. Or perhaps she realized it. It had people of both sexes staring after her as she walked about Skyhold, with him in tow. Not for long.

There were rumors of abominations in the Bannorn once more, and he would be heading out in the morning. How to tell her, he wondered, watching as she weeded in the garden. Would she miss him? Should he write letters to her?

Wait, what was he thinking? He was only supposed to watch over her, guard her. Why would she miss him? Why would he write her letters? And why did all these questions cause an undefinable ache in his chest?

No doubt, Greensleeves was a beautiful woman, with her slim nose, full lips, and long tan legs. He'd woken up rather uncomfortably dreaming about those legs. However, more oft than not, it was her hair that tempted him. Wild, unruly blonde curls that perfectly bequeathed her head. At the moment, she had them tied back with a black cord. In so doing, she had exposed a delectable neck that made him think... rather un-Templar-like thoughts.

He had asked Rylen how to tell when one is under a blood mage's spell, but the former Knight-Captain had shrugged. He had thought to ask the Commander, but thought better of it. There are some scabs that just aren't meant to be picked. So, he turned to the Inquisition Spymaster, untrusting of the apostates.

Rather than answer, she smiled, and invited him to an afternoon tea upon his return. That... made him nervous. For his sake, and Greensleeves'. Mostly due to the fact that he _knew_ his men. None would take kindly to watching over a maleficar, not even one that served the Inquisition. They didn't know her the way he had gotten to know her, in bits and pieces. Still not enough to scratch the surface, not enough to chip the ice, but enough.

He felt his cheeks heat up considerably when she looked his way, her eyes filled with warmth.

Maker's tears, how he wanted her.

\---

Persephone frowned as Cullen and Leliana started up yet another round. She threw a world-weary look Josephine's way, but the ambassador could only offer an apologetic smile. It was the same subject every other day, and had been going since she came up with the idea; Ser Barris and Greensleeves. Leliana was for it, Cullen strongly against it, and she would inevitably have to end it.

It was understandable, Cullen's distrust of Greensleeves. All of Skyhold knew that Greensleeves was a maleficar. Most of her inner circle disapproved, unsurprisingly. She went pranking with Sera to calm her down. Hit Iron Bull with a stick for a while, then gave it to Dorian when he wandered over. Solas was glaring at his cup of tea when she walked into his part of the rotunda, so she let him be. Found Varric on the battlements, frowning at Stroud. Cassandra had to have all the dummies replaced. The list goes on, to be frank.

"Inquisitor, are you truly sure this Greensleeves can be trusted?" Cullen asked for the umpteenth time.

"Yes, Cullen." She snapped. "I've heard nothing but good things from Leliana, as well as the agents that work with Greensleeves. She's never used blood magic on them, and has always been upfront about it. Glowing reports all around. I understand your mistrust of her, love, I do. So, once again, I ask that you trust me. Please."

Cullen softens at that, and Persephone pretends she doesn't see Josephine and Leliana sharing smug looks.

"Alright." He says at last, and she smiles. "I just question if this plan will work."

"It's already working, Commander." Leliana answers with a smile. "I have observed for some time myself. The ice is starting to thaw. If we want to cool down tensions between the mages and our Templar allies, we must remind them that they are not so different. That they are human, and thus susceptible to affairs of the heart."

"I must admit, the Commander makes a point." Josephine stated. "Greensleeves is a maleficar. Even if the two were to care for each other, it is possible that the plan may backfire."

"Then we'll prepare for that." Persephone said. "It never hurts to have backup plans in place. If you are concerned, you could do some brainstorming with Leliana. I'm sure she'd welcome the company of anyone other than her agents or her birds."

"Funny, Inquisitor." Leliana chuckled. "But true all the same."

The rest of the war council went without incident. Not much of an incident, at any rate.

 


	5. Bending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short, I know. I hit a wall, which sucked, but I have a plan. So, yeah... enjoy!

Left. He simply left, despite her unhappiness. "Orders are orders" and all that. Plans to write, but how long before she gets a letter? Especially with the Templar that's taken over for him. Wouldn't say his name, sent sneers when he thought she wouldn't notice. Calls her "trash" when he thought she wasn't listening. A drastic change, compared to Ser Barris.

It's not like she can complain. The Commander glares at all but the Inquisitor, and glares especially so at her. Lady Montiliyet jumps the moment she speaks, as if expecting an attack. Sister Nightingale has worries of her own, and she would not add to them. So, she stays silent, and sticks to the garden. The remplacement Templar refuses to go near, so it serves as a refuge, and a self-imposed prison. Perhaps the presence of the witch keeps them at bay.

They had conversed little during the first few days. It was not until a messenger came for her that the witch spoke.

"So, your Templar writes at last." The woman spoke, making her way over. "How would he react, I wonder, to your self-imposed exile in the garden?"

"He is not mine." Silva frowns. "And there is nothing he can do. Why would he care?"

"Come now." The witch-woman laughs. "Surely you are not blind to the way he stares."

Silva is silent for a moment before fully facing the witch, "I am Greensleeves."

"I am Morrigan." The witch smiles. "And Greensleeves is not your name."

"No." She answers simply. "Those I trust know by another name, but to everyone else, I am Greensleeves."

Morrigan stares for a while before smiling. This smile, though small, is almost... friendly. Almost. It was apparent that Morrigan was rarely one for genuine friendliness.

"Well, I shall leave you to your letter." The witch-woman said as a form of farewell, wandering off to another part of the garden. Silva turned her attention to the letter. It was truly nothing to write home about, except for one passage:

_If the men are treating you unkindly, please go to the Commander. He may act unkindly, and from what I've been able to learn about Kinloch Hold during the Fifth Blight, it is not personal (nor unreasonable). If he refuses to help, go to Sister Nightingale, or even the Inquisitor. They are trustworthy, and would be willing, Sister Nightingale perhaps moreso than the Inquisitor. I know I've no right to ask, but if you would do me this one kindness, I would appreciate it. The Inquisition cannot afford to be divided._

Inconsequential to anyone else, but not her. Care, a tangible undercurrent in the words, hauntingly familiar. Always careful, a caring person, how he often described himself. But why care for her? The exact opposite of what would be healthy, expected, typical. Not him. It... threw her off.

\---

The back room of the tavern stank of piss and sex, a combination that no living being would want to endure for long. It was in this room a man sat, surrounded by henchmen, waiting. Before him sat a small portrait, and beside it a stack of papers. _Silva Maleficus_ is written at the bottom of the portrait, and the papers reveal details about her and her life (such as it was).

The door opened, and a rather lithe man entered. If there was one way to describe the newcomer, it would be smug. He was uncharacteristically smug for a man of his line of work. The two shook hands across the table before sitting, the door slamming shut.

"Straight to business then?" The smug man asked, rubbing his hands together. "What do you wish my associates and I to do?"

The portrait and papers were passed to the smug man. A henchman spoke as the smug man looked on; "Messere Simonet has a dear friend who wishes for a... particular sort of bride. The woman in the portrait as caught the messere's eye, however, there are... complications."

The smug man looked up at that. He raised a brow, rather than ask the question on his mind.

"The woman works for the Inquisition." The henchman stated. "She is in Skyhold, the Inquisition stronghold. Getting in and out will be difficult, but Messere Simonet is confident you and your associates can get the job done."

"But of course, Messere." The smug man grinned maliciously. "My associates will send in their best agents for the job."

The jingle of coin as a pouch hits the table. The smug man takes it, gives a nod, and heads off. Simonet and his henchmen head out afterward, all breathing sighs of relief upon exiting the tavern.


	6. Beating Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hits.... the hits.... *faints*
> 
> Once again, I must say that comments give me life. I am an official comment whore, 'kay?

"Knight-Commander?" A young Knight-Recruit asked tentatively, their eyes wide. "I... well, the recruits and I, we, uh... is it true you're courting a maleficar?"

"What?!" At that, Ser Barris shot out of his seat, eyes wide. Then, he calmed himself. "Where did you hear this, Knight-Recruit?"

"It's been going around for a while, Knight-Commander." The recruit confessed. "Knight-Captain Queue talks about it all the time. She's the one that suggested you lead the squad, said it would break whatever spell the maleficar put on you."

"There is no spell on my mind, I assure you." Ser Barris said as calmly as he could. He knew Knight-Captain Queue. They had been roommates before the Circles dissolved themselves. While he was rather miffed about the rumors, he knew she had reason to be concerned. After all, Greensleeves couldn't possibly hide her use of blood magic now.

The Knight-Recruit nodded, "That is welcome news, ser, but doesn't answer my question.

"In all honesty, Knight-Recruit, I am unsure how _to_ answer it. However, I would say that Greensleeves is simply a ward that I look after under Sister Nightingale's orders, and be done with it."

"Yes, ser."

Maker above, why did it hurt to say that? To say she is no more than a ward when he so desired for her to be more? At this rate, it's a surprise a desire demon hasn't attempted to latch onto him. The feelings that swirled within were not becoming of a Knight-Commander of the Templar Order. Were not becoming of a _Templar_.

He sang the Chant when he could, and always performed to the best of his ability. The Templar Order was his life, but he would more than readily give it up for Silva. And that worried him more than anything. Silva was both maleficar and apostate, rogue mages that he had sworn to hunt down and bring to the Circle (or put down, if necessary, but it rarely ever was). He'd attended Harrowings, gone on hunts, been assigned wards of both genders, but never had _this_ happened.

Was it a cruel joke? A game? Was the Maker testing his resolve, even now? Or was it he simply never truly desired someone until she came along? Sure, there had been people that he found... _overtly_ attractive, and he was no stranger to feelings of lust and desire. Silva, however, was among the few that sparked more. Is it possible to care for someone one doesn't really know?

Wait... When did he start referring to her as Silva? Maker's breath, he needed a drink.

\---

Leliana pinched the bridge of her nose as she read the reports spread out on her desk. However, her focus wasn't on them. It was on the letter from Cullen, a request of sorts, that Greensleeves be confined to the gardens, due to the unrest amongst the Templars while Ser Barris was away. Yet another headache too deal with, another bump in her plans. It made her miss Guinevere even more, if that was possible.

She hadn't wanted to believe it at first, that Guin could care for her as anything other than a friend. Her heart had absolutely fluttered like a peasant girl's every time their eyes met. In her head, she had already started composing songs about Guin's eyes, green jewels in their own right. And then, the kiss.

Oh, how she replayed that moment, even now. She was meant to be a hardened spymaster, but her softer side always came out when referencing Guin. Josie had once remarked that she would have the slightest blush on her cheeks, much to her unhappiness. But, she supposed that what happens when one is in love.

The fear that Fergus would make a match for Guin was there, of course. Despite the Teryn Cousland's assurances that he would never force his sister to sacrifice her happiness, the need for an heir would become an issue. Since Guin was looking for a way to stop the Calling, it wouldn't be a problem just yet. It would, though, and that worried her.

Were it not for Ophelia's impending visit, she would not have such a headache. It was a surprise, to say the least. When the Arl of Redcliffe's secret wife planned to visit, she didn't say, but visit she would. No doubt, Cullen would throw some kind of fit, and would want to greet the Lady Amell personally. That would draw attention from Persephone (though whether she knew about Ophelia was unknown), which would draw attention from everyone else.

"Oh, Guin." Leliana breathed. "If only you were here. Or would remember to write.

"I'm sure she will." A voice from the shadows. Leliana rolled her eyes as Morrigan stepped into the light, nodded her head towards the spymaster, then left the rotunda. _Third time that day_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, where's Silva? In the gardens, her self-imposed exile area. That's where. 
> 
> I wanted to focus on other people in this trainwreck of a fic, since I had focused on Silva and her thoughts and feelings so heavily.
> 
> This is kinda-sorta Ser Barris' faith crisis moment. I'm not sure what it is truly, I was listening to Hellfire, and I thought of Ser Barris, and this happened.
> 
> Knight-Captain Queue is, of course, the fakest fake to ever fake. So there's that.
> 
> Next chapter will focus mostly of Ophelia Amell, known as the Lady Amell in Redcliffe, Teagan's secret wifey-poo. *giggle giggle*


	7. The Lady Amell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's face it, the past 2 or so chapters are filler. The interesting bit won't happen until chapter 10.
> 
> Have I mentioned I'm bad at filler?

Ophelia stretched her limbs as far as she dare, trying not to disturb her bed mate. It would be futile, of course, but she tried all the same. As had become normal, she heard the sheets shift as Teagan tightened his hold on her waist, planting a kiss on her love-bitten shoulder. Hazel eyes closed as she hummed, turning in her husband's (how she loved that word) arms. She barely kept from laughing as he proceeded to kiss her senseless.

"Good morning, my love." Ophelia said, oval-shaped eyes opening to stare into Teagan's blue ones. Teagan smiled, highlighting the wrinkles that had already started to show. All the stress of the past eleven (give or take) years had finally caught up to him, and seemed to have barely touched her. It was enough to make her frown, which he instantly caught on to.

"Frowning, my dear Lady." He said, planting kisses about her face until she giggled. "How was your rest?"

"Slightly troublesome." She answered, and he sighed with relief. Even now, dreams of the Blight and her travels with Guinevere Cousland haunted her. They had waxed as of late, a small blessing.

"We take our victories were we can." He said after a pause, wrapping his arms tighter about her. She nuzzled his nose before wriggling away. It was a game between them, which one could get out of bed and to the bath faster. The first there would get a nice warm bath. She was always there first, but she knew it was because he let her win.

She poured magic into the runes on the stones that lined the tub the moment her foot touched the water. She shot him a smug grin as she lowered herself into the water. He simply chuckled, sitting up in their bed, but not bothering to move just yet.

"Still no wish to join me, husband?" She questioned coyly, chuckling at the smoldering look he gave her. She knew the answer to that one quite well, allowing the memory of it to fill her mind as she set to work washing away the dried sweat that clung to her skin. She hummed as deft fingers combed through her now-damp black hair, gently massaging her scalp.

"Not today, wife." Teagan murmured, placing a kiss on her temple. "I join you now, we'd never leave this room. Besides, a representative of the Inquisition is here."

"Before you say anything, yes, I am still going." Ophelia stated. "You've every reason to be cautious of them, my dearest, but I'm only going there for a few days to visit a dear friend. And from what I hear, Ser Stroud is there, and given my history with Warden-Commander Lady Cousland, I might learn a thing or two about why they disappeared."

"Promise me that you'll be careful."

"Always, my dearest."

She smiled the rest of the day away, just barely keeping up with the representative. Things became tense when Anora showed up, but quickly defused. It was odd that Anora showed up alone, but Ophelia chose not to question it. At least, not in front of the representative.

When they left, Anora hopped to, explaining all the preparations that would go into announcing the new Arlessa of Redcliffe, and was she sure she wanted to delay it?

"Yes, Your Majesty." Ophelia answered, smiling as Anora scrunched her nose. "Tensions between mages and Templars have never been higher. I'm aware the Templars are working with the Inquisition now."

"But the people still remember that a Tevinter magister had taken over Redcliffe." Anora remarked solemnly. "You would be feared and hated outside the Hinterlands. Why didn't you leave with the rebel mages?"

"To blindly follow where some Tevinter magister says to go?" Ophelia scoffed. "After said magister sent my husband packing to the capital? He all but bound me to Redcliffe because I am a mage. No, the rebel mages made their beds when they signed on with the man who kicked my husband out of our home. Ferelden has been my county-my home-since I was 8, I'm not abandoning it now. Plus, someone has to keep an eye on Alistair that isn't you."

"He'll be so glad he's so taken care of." Anora giggled, despite the red on her cheeks. "He's done well the past few years. I know that look, Lady Amell, get those thoughts out of your head. I admire and respect Alistair and how dedicated he is, but the man is my husband in name only."

"I know, Lady Mac Tir, I know." Ophelia laughed. "I may not be an official part of the loop, but all Isolde has talked about was Alistair's Rose, when she wasn't 'Teegahn!'-ing all over the castle. She's a nice woman in her own right, but I barely see my husband when she's here!"

"You can't be serious." Anora actually smiled, the Queen-ly mask she wore sliding away completely. "Isolde is wonderful, but usurping Teagan away from you? And he let's it happen?"

"What can he do? She is his sister-in-law by all accounts." Ophelia shrugged. "And it's not as though I mind. The arguments between her and Eamon have gotten worse, and this place is her only refuge since Eamon moved to the estate in Denerim. I fear for her sometimes. We may not have gotten along originally, but she's become a good friend these past few years."

"I suppose she'll be staying here while you're visiting Skyhold."

"Of course. She and Eamon both are going to be here while I'm away. I wouldn't trust anyone else to look after Teegahn!"

\---

It was a wonderfully warm afternoon when the Lady Amell arrived. The key word, Leliana felt, was _was_. The moment she stepped into the courtyard, she was bombarded with admirers, which drew the attention of everyone else. All seemed to be going well when Ophelia finally made her way to Leliana in the upper courtyard.

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, Cullen appeared.

The moment he spotted Ophelia, he froze, eyes wide. Until that very moment, she'd never seen the former Templar so disarmed. Oh sure, she still remembered his rant in Kinloch, the invisible knives he had unknowingly stabbed into Ophelia's heart, but now? He was absolutely petrified. Ophelia gave him a disinterested look at first, before turning back to Leliana.

"Leliana..." She stared, before nodding her head in Cullen's direction.

"Surely you remember Ser Cullen, Lady Amell." Leliana chuckled. "I suspect he has something to say. I'll be at the top of the rotunda." Leliana then turned and left, but not before giving Cullen a very, _very_ stern look.

She went into Josephine's office before heading to the rotunda, a small smile on her lips. The fact that the Inquisitor was there was fortuitous at best. Two birds, one stone.

"Josie, I trust a room was prepared for Lady Amell." As she approached the desk, Josephine, nodded, while the Inquisitor gave her a look. "Good. I know that look, Inquisitor. What's on your mind?"

"I've heard of the Amells before..." Auburn brows furrowed, bringing out the pox mark on her forehead. "I didn't realize they were interested in the Inquisition."

"Some have pledged their support, but not on a whole." Josephine stated. "The Lady Amell that Leliana speaks of however, is..." Here, the ambassador faltered, unsure of how to phrase it gently.

"She is a good friend, as well as a mage." Leliana informs the Inquisitor. "She was in Ferelden's Circle during the Fifth Blight, and volunteered to accompany the Hero of Ferelden after she freed the mages."

"Would she and Cullen know each other, then?" At that question, the spymaster had to fight the smirk threatening to appear on her face.

"Cullen had quite the crush on her, actually." Lelianna giggled, though the Inquisitor frowned. It seemed he had not told her that. "If you wish to know more, Ophelia will be here for the following week."

"Is there anything else I need to know about Lady Amell?" The Inquisitor questioned, her tone rather terse. Bitter, even. It was obvious she wasn't happy at the information he withheld from her.

"She has been secretly married to Arl Teagan Guerrin of Redcliffe for 4 years now." Josephine recanted. "This is only known in the Hinterlands, however, and among a special few in Denerim."

"I should go introduce myself, then." The Inquisitor exited the office. Josephine sighed as Leliana laughed, finally heading to the rotunda.

\---

She was here. _Here_. In Skyhold. He hadn't thought he'd see her again, hadn't wished to see her again. The things he had said, harm he had done to both their hearts. And now, there she was, laughing at something Leliana had said, black hair in a long, shining braid down her back. Even from where he stood, he could make out her slim nose, the sharp cheekbones. Her make-up was much softer than when she was in the Circle but it was her. It was Ophelia.

When their eyes met, he felt his heart sink. It wasn't until Leliana said something that she looked again, oval eyes wide. It had been a long time since they last saw each other. Of course she didn't recognize him. Leliana walked away, heading back up into the keep.

It was when he magically found himself on his back that he realized she'd struck him with a lightening bolt. he let out a mix of a cough and a groan, rolling onto his side before slowly sitting up. He would have questioned who did that, but there was no need. The culprit was offering a hand.

"I think we both needed that." She said simply. After helping him up, she shook her head. "It's been, what, eleven years? Give or take? Too long to hold a grudge."

"Ophelia, I-" Cullen started, but stopped when she put a hand up.

"No need, Cullen." She smiled, then. "You're already forgiven. You were broken when we found you. Took me five years to understand that. You broke my heart, you know."

"What? Y-you mean you felt the same?"

"At the time, yes. Now? I'm pretty sure we've both moved on. Just a matter of mending those old wounds." Ophelia let out a dry laugh. "Let's not mention the lightening bolt, yeah? All these Templars, one might smite me for attacking you. Then Teagan will throw a fit, and he doesn't exactly love the Inquisition as it is."

"Arl Teagan?" Cullen questioned, brows knitting. "Why would he be angry?"

"She's his wife, Cullen." Persephone said, walking up to them. He straightened instantly (as if he wasn't straightened enough), though he didn't meet her eyes. "You must be Lady Amell. Persephone Trevelyan."

"Out of Ostwick, right?" Ophelia asked, earning a nod. "I met your sister once. She and a few other mages came to Kinloch Hold to help with the rebuilding before everything fell apart-again. Lovely girl. At any rate, am I detecting a hint of familiarity when addressing the fair Commander?" Hazel eyes glimmered with mischief, and Persephone laughed. He continued to pray that the ground would swallow him, or that Jim would magically appear and free him.

Just why is it that damn messenger can only show up at the most inopportune times?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware that Wynne is the one to volunteer to help the HoF after they free the mages. She still did, but so did Ophelia. In the words of Seeker Pentaghast; "Deal. With. It."


	8. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am honestly sooooo bad at filler. So, I thought to do a chapter with letters to Skyhold (and one from Skyhold).

_Leliana-_

_How many times must I tell you that I am alright? Worry about the Inquisition, not me. Though, that's probably a bit too much to ask. You were always so stubborn when a situation called for it. It's one of the things I miss about you._

_I miss your laugh and your smile most of all. Rain or shine, you always made my days a little brighter. I wish you could have come with me. But I knew that Most Holy would need you more, and I couldn't let my own wants get in the way of that. And after hearing about the Conclave, about everything that's happened since, I think it's good that you stayed. You would never have forgiven yourself if you were away._

_It's been raining for the past five days, and Oghren is slowly driving me insane. I about punched him yesterday. Everyone's going a little stir crazy, despite the constant movement._

_Tell Ophelia that she still owes me those coppers. Let Morrigan know that I'm still alive, and pretty pissy that she never bothered to write while she was in Orlais. There's a letter I'm sending with this one for Fergus. I know he'll get it if you're the one sending it._

_Remember that I love you. Nothing and no one can take that away. You are a beautiful, deadly, daring woman with the kindest heart in Thedas._

_Forever at your mercy,_

_Guinevere_

\---

_Persephone-_

_You are so lucky that you have the Inquisition to worry about. Mother just gave me the chewing out of a lifetime (in letter form, but still). Apparently, it's my responsibility to remind you that you do, in fact, have family that cares about you and that you should write to said family more often. I could practically_ see _Father rolling his eyes and nodding from the sidelines. Like he says, there's a time and a place to cross Mother, and when she's worked up is_ not _one of those times._

_As you can imagine, VieVie was nowhere to be found. Not even Wes knew, though he's been helping me with the relief effort in Kirkwall (such as it is). Believe it or not, Hanwyn and Max are actually working together to find her. Shocker, right? After what happened with that Ansburg girl? Those two were always close, though. Not as close as Max and I, but close._

_So, you're going to give all the juicy details about your Commander, right? I've only heard hearsay, and it's killing me to know what's true and what's not. Not even the people here in Kirkwall can tell me._

_I've been continuing my studies in the meantime, don't worry about that. And what's this about Venatori? As if Tevinter didn't have a bad enough name for themselves, now there's a cult? Bunch of idiots, them._

_Write soon, alright? Otherwise, it'll be_ your _hide being tanned with words. Not pleasant._

_Love,_

_Evelyn Rose Trevelyan of the Ostwick Circle of Magi_

(underneath)

_Dearest, darlingest Purse,_

_Do tell Mother to stuff it in the kindest terms. Let Hanny and Maxie know that I'm perfectly alright. And inform Evie and Wes that I'm not a child. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself out from under their thumb._

_Oh, and do prepare a room for me. I'm camped on Lake Celestine at the moment, and should be about two days ride from the Frostbacks. Don't ask how, you truly don't want to know._

_Send my love to Father._

_Your bestest Sister,_

_Genevieve Marie "VieVie" Trevelyan of Ostwick_

\---

_Ser Barris,_

_There is no need to worry about me. I am whole and well. It is also not the best idea to approach anyone for help. I will not be seen as weak in your brothers' and sisters' eyes. I am a strong mage, a strong woman, and I will not be bullied and made a weakling from my own choices._

_In truth, I must admit, it warms my heart to know you care. You are so very different from your fellow Templars. It is your opinion that I find myself caring about, not theirs. A good thing, perhaps?_

_I miss being out in the field, as you are. It's been too long since I used my "abilities." Or, at least, used them for something other than mundane purposes._

_I made all the flowers bloom in the garden once. It was nice, seeing everyone smile at something I did. I'd never admit it was me, the evil apostate, who made the flowers bloom out of season, but I'm content to live with the lie. It seems that's all I can do, be content to live with a lie. Nobody outside Skyhold (alongside the entire remainder of the Templar Order) knows of my gifts. And I know what will happen to me, once Corypheus is destroyed and order restored._

_It's funny, but I am actually quite grateful that my future is so certain. All these people, not knowing what will happen when this is over, but I know my fate, and have accepted it. My "abilities"  are evil in the eyes of the Chantry, though I'm willing to bet there are countless accounts where these "abilities" are used for good, are seen as simply another school of magic, not some wicket thing come to corrupt "innocent" minds._

_But what do I know? My fate is sealed, and I have accept it. As long as I am in your good graces, I can be at peace. I am in your good graces thus far, yes?_

_Also, please let me know when you get back. I told you that I can cook, right? There's this special kind of soup that Keeper made that I am planning on making, and I shall need a taste tester. I can think of no one better than you._

_Sincerely,_

_Greensleeves_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering, Persephone has 6 elder siblings; Hanwyn and Maxwell (twins) and Evelyn, Genevieve, and Weston (triplets). I know the Trevelyan Codex entry said third- or fourth-born children, but I thought it would be interesting to go against it. So, yeah.
> 
> Also, I know that it isn't explicitly stated if the HoF brought any companions with them, but I find it hard to believe that they would go out looking alone.


	9. Bond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll are gonna freak the freak out next chapter. Pinky promise.

As they neared Skyhold, Ser Barris took one last look at the Templars around him. He and Knight-Captain Queue had argued after what happened with the Knight-Recruit, but had since smoothed things over. And yet, he felt his stomach knot up as he and his brothers and sisters rode across the bridge. As he dismounted, he noticed Silva-he had resigned himself to the fact that she was Silva to him, not Greensleeves-standing at the top of the stairs that lead to the kitchen.

What surprised him, however, was what she was wearing.

A pair of plain leather boots over a pair of black breeches with a white cotton tunic tucked in. The sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, exposing the green vallaslin underneath, and her hair was combed up into a bun, with some curls framing her face and some dancing delicately on her neck. It was casual to anyone else, sure. But, to Ser Delrin Barris, Silva Maleficus was sin walking, a true test from the Maker, possessing a beauty that rivaled even the Maker's Bride.

She smiled shyly, so shyly, as she approached. A delicate, tan hand touched his chin, and gently pushed up. It was then he realized his gaping maw, and instantly snapped it shut, causing her to jump.

"Perhaps I should dress appropriately more often." She mused softly, eyes alight with mischief. "The jaw-drop is definitely an event I could get used to."

"My apologies, Greensleeves." He said, a smile on his lips. "I was gone far too long, and have missed basking in your ever-radiant beauty." Forward of him, to be sure, but from the blush on her cheeks, not too forward.

"Flatterer." She said. "Now come, the soup is going to get cold before it's even finished." With a giggle, she took his hand, eagerly leading him towards the kitchens. He took this moment to admire the contrast between their hands, his calloused from training, hers a careful mix of rough and smooth. _All that tree climbing she's rumored to do,_ he thought.

The kitchens were mostly empty when they walked in, but the smell was more than enough for him to just stop and take everything. Silva as she made her way over to the kettle on the fire, stirring the broth within, a contented look on her face. The glow of the fire, the ingredients that littered the tables, slips of paper with warnings from the head cook. It was rather cosy, and he couldn't help but wish this was more than what it truly was.

More than just the budding blossom of friendship.

"Ser Barris?" Her voice shook away the dark doubt, and, with a shake of his head, he looked toward her. Confusion painted her features.

"My mind was... elsewhere." He said in lieu of an apology. She sent a smirk. "Delrin."

"What?"

"Please, call me Delrin. After all, I won't be leaving anytime in the near future, we should at least be on a first name basis."

"I prefer Ser Barris, but if you insist... Delrin."

He ignored the way his heart fluttered at the way she said his name, all lilting vowels and soft consonants. She turned back to the broth, giving it a stir, before plucking a ladle from a rack. She dipped it into the broth, lifting it up and blowing as she turned to him. She then offered him the ladle. Rather than question, he took a tentative sip, and was surprised at the taste.

"Is there nug in this?" He inquired, and she shook her head.

"Druffalo." She answered. "Well, do you like it?" She smiled when he nodded. "Good. It isn't exactly how Keeper made it-"

"I like the way _you_ made it, Silva." He murmured, watching as she once again flushed. "My apologies, that was much to bold."

"It's perfectly alright, Delrin." She said. "I don't mind bold." The air was thick for a few minutes.

"I should... get back... to the barracks, that is." Ser Barris cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Would you like to join me for supper? At the tavern, that is."

"I'd like that." Silva smiled, her eyes alight. "I'll see you at supper, Delrin."

As he made his way back to the barracks, he couldn't help but smile, letting his heart flutter.

\---

Warmth filled the Herald's Rest as Silva entered. Tense joy scented the air like a perfume, and everywhere people chatted. She ignores the stares as she heads to the second floor, finds a table near a window, and sits. Wooden clogs on the floor, a waitress, slaps a menu on the table, then promptly bolts. Stares out the window, at the people going by. Busy, like ants in an anthill.

A hand on her shoulder, looks up, feels her heart stop. Ser Barris- _Delrin_ -stands before her, in brown breeches with a deep red tunic, the symbol of the Templar Order emblazoned on it. Freshly shaven, there is an element about him that simply screams _male,_ and she nearly swoons.

"Glad to return the favor." Jests, rather awkwardly, endearing. He sits across from her, takes the menu on the table, peruses. "Have you ever dined here before?"

"No." A curt answer, causes him to look up. "Before, it was the dining hall."

"Where do you take your meals now?"

"The garden. My self-imposed exile area. Safe from the glares."

"I told you to go to the Commander or Sister Nightingale if you had trouble." A gentle reprimand, eyes sparkle with kindness. "I honestly thought you would after my last letter. Are you always so stubborn?"

"Yes." A giggle, snatches the menu from him. "You've dined here. How are the meals?"

"Only order the house special." It sounds like a confession, earning another giggle. "It's true. The only good thing I've had so far, even if the fish is a bit undercooked."

The waitress reappears, takes their orders, eyes lingering on Delrin like a starved predator. A bark from a patron below, the waitress disappears, and Silva smiles. He raises a brow, says nothing.

Then, their food and drinks arrive, and they begin to talk, little things, small things. Much like their conversations before he left. He laughs, she drowns in the sound. As she carefully sips her ale, the air becomes pleasant. No longer tense joy, but happiness bounded about.

_I hope this night never ends,_ a wish, one not meant to be spoken aloud. In this one moment, she is not apostate, not maleficar, not Greensleeves. She is Silva, he is Delrin, and she lets the ice slide away.

"It's a lovely evening." He says later as they leave the tavern. His arm around her shoulders, wind no longer biting, she smiles.

"It is." Looks are sent their way as they head onto the battlements, the last rays of the sun turning the surrounding mountains into deep shades of violet. The sky multiple shades of orange, red, blue, and pink.

"I hope that I've not been too forward." An off-hand comment, she knows what he means.

"I don't mind the flirtation, Delrin." An admission. "It has been... a long time since I dared flirt. And if it comes from someone as charming as you? It is most welcome."

"I still disagree about the whole "charming" thing." He laughs. "Awkward is definitely the word."

"Adorable." She supplants, earning a warm grin. He looks relaxed, loose, and it pleases her to see him this way. A look behind the mask, a sneak peek exclusive to her.

"You never did tell me which clan raised you-not that you have to, of course."

"I would rather not, if you don't mind."

"Where did they-you-roam?"

"Along the borders of Nevarra and the Free Marches. However, I've been living along the border of Nevarra and Orlais for a few years."

"It sounds lonely."

Looks at him, surprise filling her at the warm look in his eyes. Opens her mouth to say something, then immediately closes it. It was then that she knew the first major chunk of ice had given way. A sudden change in dynamic that she hadn't seen until then.

"It was." She gives a shy smile. "For a long time, I've been alone."

"And now?"

"I'm not alone. So many people, willing to accept me for who I am... Like you. I thought you would hate me."

"I thought I would, too." He chuckles. "The Order is my life, and the views on blood magic are very... set. Before you, I had yet to truly meet a blood mage. Whenever I saw them, I saw evil. Now, when I think back on the moments I faced a blood mage, I realize that at least some were only desperate to be safe and free. I cannot speak for all of them, of course, but some, I still remember the desperation in their eyes. I don't see that in you, though."

"Blood magic was my choice, not a last resort." She states. "Most turn to blood magic when they feel they've no choice. I was exploring my options when I truly came upon it. I killed a squirrel with its own blood. I didn't even know what I had done until I tried to replicate it on a nug."

"You came upon it by accident?"

"Yes, for the most part. I only use it for battle, however. Plenty of blood gets spilled on a battlefield."

"Do you use a staff?"

"I've never had one."

Gives a look, but chooses not to comment. Both look at the sunset, a sigh of contentment slipping by up-turned lips.

Shock slips through when a pair of lips land on her head, heated breath blowing through her hair. Then, she relaxes, leans into him. Quite the pair, him and her. Knight-Commander of a struggling Order and a Dalish-raised blood mage. She likes that.

"Shall I walk you back to your quarters?"

"If you don't mind."

\---

"They plan to attack Adamant within the week." One spy informed The Smug Man. "The best time to strike is when the castle sleeps. A simple caravan disguise would be best used for getting Silva Maleficus out of Skyhold. We wait on your order."

"Have it ready and in place the night the Inquisitor leaves." The Smug Man orders. "Leave by midnight. Keep her sedate during the trip. A sleeping draught mixed with some mild magebane to keep her placated for Messere Simonet. Once we've given her to him, she'll be his problem."

The spy leaves, and The Smug Man sighes: "I hate smuggling mages. Magebane is so hard to come by."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarification: Silva knew ABOUT blood magic, but had never practiced it. She had been looking for a way to actually use it when she killed the squirrel. Oopsy-daisy? :/
> 
> I honestly had no idea what to call The Smug Man, so I just stuck with that. Who cares what a smuggler's name is, anyway? :P


	10. Capture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, something interesting happens. And you guys get to meet Genevieve!

Skyhold is a flurry of activity during the following week. An attack on Adamant, an ancient Warden fortress, was in the works. In all honesty, however, that was furthest from Genevieve Trevelyan's mind. Finding her little sister in all the flurry was what occupied her thoughts.

Skyhold was really little more than a glorified military camp at the ass-end of Thedas to her. After two days hard riding, she was grateful when the keep came into view. Now, as she was being escorted to Ambassador Montiliyet... Perhaps it wasn't too late to turn back? Genevieve knew her little sister, and she knew that Persephone still kept in semi-regular contact with their parents, as well as Evie.

"Ambassador Montiliyet." She said in her most noble-ish voice. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I am Lady Genevieve Trevelyan, daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick, and sister to the Inquisitor."

"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Trevelyan." Ambassador Montiliyet said in a friendly tone, though her eyes were guarded. "This is the first I've met any of the Inquisitor's siblings."

"Purse always did keep to herself." Genevieve sighed. "Before you ask, I really am who I say I am. If you still need clarification, you could always summon my dear little sister. She can verify."

"Verify what-VieVie?" In walked Persephone, teal eyes wide as she stared into Genevieve's green ones. "I know your letter said you weren't too far, but how...?"

"It's nice to see you too, Purse." Genevieve chuckled as Persephone frowned. "Is that any way to greet your sister?"

"Where have you been?" Persephone asked, concern painting her features. _She always was a master of the innocent concern face,_ Genevieve thought.

"Here, there, everywhere." Genevieve replied noncommittally. "I was in Antiva City for a while. Still trying to get the smell of rotting carrion out of my nose. Whoever decided that all the drama of Antiva City should happen near the docks _must_ have been experiencing a bad high."

"Antiva City is a jewel amongst the capitals!" Ambassador Montiliyet interjected. Genevieve rolled her eyes.

"You _would_ say that, Ambassador." The elder Trevelyan sister said with a wave of her hand. "You're Antivan. Every Antivan I've met states that no capital is better than Antiva City. Antiva City is a jewel in terms of gossip, frivolity, and general drama, but that's it. Practicality and sensibility may as well not exist in Antiva. The only sensible Antivan I've ever heard of besides you was Queen Asha, and she was only Antivan through marriage!"

"Genevieve!" The younger Trevelyan sister reprimanded. "Perhaps it would be best to save this debate for later? Josephine and I have a war council to attend. Why don't you acquaint yourself with Skyhold in the meantime?"

Genevieve sighed, flicking her auburn locks and heading off. She found herself in the upper courtyard. All around, people milled, some enjoying the sun, while also trying to ignore the clashing swords and shields in the training yard. There were two men in the middle, and she was pretty sure one of them was a Templar. A blonde-haired woman stood off to the side, watching the men intently, her gaze zeroing in on the dark-skinned man more often than not.

She let out a mixture of a cough and a grunt as someone bumped into her. She whirled around to be faced with perhaps the most ruggedly handsome man in Thedas. Orlesian by the looks of him, but then again, she's met plenty of Orlesian-looking people who were actually Fereldan.

"My apologies." He says, and she positively swoons. Rugged Orlesian accents always did do her in. "I should have been paying attention."

"Perfectly alright." She says, turning on the charm. "I am Genevieve. And you are?"

"I am Fairbanks." He says with a slight bow. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. What brings you to Skyhold?"

"I came to see my little sister." She informs him with a small grin. "Perhaps you've met her. Persephone Trevelyan?"

"The Inquisitor?" Fairbanks' eyes go wide. "I didn't realize the Herald of Andraste had siblings. I must be off, however. A pleasure to meet you, Lady Trevelyan."

\---

The spy watches Silva for some time, watches her as she watches _him_. They would normally have written her off as another member of the Inquisition, were it not for the green tattoos- _vallaslin_ -on her arms.

They are willing to admit that Silva Maleficus is a stunning woman, but she walks like a prostitute and talks in circles, from what the Templars had readily told them. There are few in the Order that would despair her disappearance, since she and the Knight-Commander have gotten closer. Where she went, he went, much like before, but now they both dined in the tavern and watched the sunset from the battlements.

It did not matter. The Inquisitor and her entourage were already on their way to Adamant, and the blood mage would be vulnerable. Being here for the past week had let them know that Skyhold quieted by 10'o'clock, so the best time to strike was 10:30. They always did enjoy when their prey put up a struggle.

Getting into Silva Maleficus' room was easy enough. A servant that worked for The Smug Man readily gave them a key. They hid in the darkest corner, and waited until nightfall. There is quite a bit one can do to pass the time, if one is creative. The door opened and closed around 9'o'clock, familiar blonde hair being loosed from a black ribbon.

The tunic was next to go, exposing the _vallaslin_ on her arms. It starts on her shoulder blades, runs up onto her shoulds, then down to her wrists. Green tendrils in small, delicate lines, creating intricate, swirling patterns, like clouds during a storm. The boots are next, followed by the breeches. She changes into a nightgown that stops just short of her knees, then climbes into bed, a content look on her face. The spy takes a moment to admire Silva Maleficus.

At 10'o'clock, they strike, plugging the blood mage's nose as they force the sleeping magebane (for lack of a better potion name) past pink lips. Gray-blue eyes jerk open, and she instantly begins fighting, scratching and clawing the spy's arms. The spy rolls their eyes, even as their flesh is clawed, leaving red lines on their exposed forearms. The clothing they were was spelled so that the flesh may be marked, but never rent, protection against their prey. A series of swallows fills the otherwise quiet room. The beginnings of a cry for help appear, then stop, as Silva Maleficus succumbs to the draught.

The spy is quick to pick her up and exit the room, heading for the "caravan" they arrived with, already preparing to cross the bridge. They lay Silva on the back of the wagon, and cover her with a blanket. The "caravan" is safely away from Skyhold when the toll of alarm bells go off. The spy smiles.

\---

The light hurts her eyes, screaming, clawing, tearing through the blanket that covers her. Impossible to tell the passage of time in between doses. Hours? Days? Months? Time has started to lose meaning. Fed whenever she wakes, then is immediately put back under. Stopped fighting after a few days, knowing the garments to be charmed. No matter how she fought, she could not rend their flesh, and she wakes too weak to use her inborn mana. Instead, bides her time, waiting to reach the final destination.

The potion they feed her is a simple sleeping draught, but with something bitter mixed in. She compares the bitterness to being smited, for that is what she imagines it to feel. A violent clamp on her gifts as she is pulled under, so the world becomes a haze of pain.

They stop, she is removed for the carriage, the bitter herb forced into her mouth. Not sleeping draught, but the other thing... _Magebane_. Pain is too much, so no struggle, barely able to walk in the clogs they stuffed on her wool-wrapped feet.

Spends what she assumes to be three days in a darkly-lit cell. Meals laced with magebane brought to her at irregular times, so she is starved when it is brought. She knows not to, but she eats all the same. Too spoiled while in Skyhold, she thinks.

"Here she is, Messeres." A honeyed voice, and she feels sick.

"Good. Prepare her for transport. Messere Simonet is anxious to present this gift to his dear friend." A rough voice. Nevarran?

Time passes slowly as she is transported once more. Sleeping magebane is poured down her throat immediately after she eats. Given a plain dress to replace her now-threadbare nightgown. Slowly becoming numb to the magebane, to the violent clamp. Barely feels it some days.

The next time she comes to, she is chained in a brightly lit room, trimmed with silver. All manner of instruments line the walls.

"Well, well, well." Gut twists, she feels violently ill. She knows that voice.

"Aenor." She spits. " _Nuva fen'harel pala masa sule'din_."

"You wound me, _Da Fenlin_." Aenor stepped out of the shadows, eyes glinting with obsessive lust. "I wasted so many resources hunting you down. I never agreed with Keeper Adahlena's decision to let you leave the clan. You were always a better mage than Dalineva. And now, I've got you. And you've no choice but to bond with me. Isn't that right..."

"Ashatarylin?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I would like to sing the praises of Project Elvhen and the beautiful minds behind it. I was having the damndest time finding an Elvish name for Silva, and it's thanks to them that I did. So, translation time!
> 
> _Nuva fen'harel pala masa sule'din_ \- May the dread wolf fuck your ass until you die.  
>  _Da Fenlin_ \- Little wolfling
> 
> As for the names, that should be self-evident;  
> Adahlena is the Keeper of Silva's former clan,  
> Dalineva is the clan's First,  
> Aenor is an asshole,  
> And Ashatarylin is Silva herself.


	11. Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied Non-Con ahead. Ye have been warned.

"Gone?! How?!" Delrin demanded to know, his green gaze burning into Leliana's rather calm blue. "I thought you cared about your people!"

"Ser Barris, please calm down." Josephine beseeched. "Leliana's people are already looking into the incident."

Delrin sighed through his nose, fighting down his anger.

"Miss Maleficus is a remarkable woman." Josephine says gently. "We know that you care for her a great deal, Ser Barris. But we must keep calm if we are to find her. We won't be able to mount a proper manhunt until Inquisitor Trevelyan returns from Adamant."

"Why not use my fellow Templars to look?" Delrin suggests, then immediately regrets it. "Never mind, I know why. Would the Inquisition have enough spies, then?"

"They are already looking into the incident, as Josephine stated." Leliana reports, her eyes landing on the maps before them in the war room. "There was a caravan here during the week that left suddenly the night the Inquisitor and her companions left for Adamant. Leaving these mountains can be dangerous at night, and I've been told there was a rather sizable lump in an otherwise empty wagon. If we can track down where they were last spotted, we will have a lead."

"Perhaps we could get in contact with Miss Maleficus' former clan?" Josephine asks, and Delrin's eyes went wide. "Surely they would be interested in finding a former clan mate."

"She's never said the name of her clan." Delrin informed them. "Not even to me. I don't even know if she would want to see her former clan."

"That is why I'm here, Ser Barris." Leliana chuckled. "Her clan is Clan Alasvhen. It has been difficult to find them, since they roam far from any human settlements. We have relied on any Dalish connections we have in Nevarra and the Free Marches. That has caused no end of trouble, as you can imagine."

"So, without the Inquisitor, a search can't be launched." Delrin questioned. Leliana nodded.

"We can't even be sure the Commander would allow a search party..." Josephine murmured. She most likely meant it to be towards herself, but it grated on his nerves all the same.

"We don't need the Commander's permission to dispense one." Delrin all but growled. "Silva will be found, even if I have to look for her my bloody self!"

"My agents will assist you in this matter, Ser Barris." Leliana pledged. "Silva is one of mine. I have only to ask the Inquisitor. The agents that work alongside her are adamant about finding her."

"But without the Inquisitor's permission, you can't dispense them." Delrin sighed. "Forgive my outburst. I need to be going."

Before he embarrassed himself further, Delrin left the War Room. The last thing he needed was another outburst. Yet another thing he had never experienced before Silva. His cool-headedness was his pride, and to have it so readily ripped the moment she was gone was... maddening.

Most people knew to keep out of his way. A certain dwarf that inhabits the main hall was not one of those people. He sat rather belligerently beside Varric in the tavern after the dwarven author invited him for drinks.

"So, lay it on me, Templar." Varric Tethras himself said, to which Delrin gave a look. "It's a work in progress."

"I believe this is the first time I've actually spoken with one of the Inquisitor's companions." Delrin said hesitantly. "What brought this about?"

"Boredom and a dash of curiosity." Varric answers. "The Templar and the Mage is a borderline common trope in terms of romance, but a Templar and an apostate maleficar? Don't see that every day."

"You're not the only one." Delrin sighed. "I should hate her. I should sneer at her, not sup with her and walk her to her quarters. I know how I _should_ act in this situation. But Silva is..."

"Silva? Is that her name?"

"I doubt it's her true name, but yes. Only those closest to her call her that, though. To everyone else, she is Greensleeves."

"Greensleeves? I knew Nightingale gave her people weird names, but Greensleeves?"

"It's not without reason, I assure you." Delrin says, rolling his eyes. "Truly, though, Silva is something else. She's intelligent and caring, but acts all aloof. Stubborn, also. The days I was away in the Bannorn, I asked her to go see Sister Nightingale or the Inquisitor if she was having trouble with the Order, but she refused. And she says that she's accepted her fate after all this ends, and it drives me mad! I've always kept a calm head, but the blasted woman makes me trip with every word that comes out of her mouth!"

"Careful, there, Templar." Varric chuckles. "You sound like you're in love with her. You've only known her for, what, a few weeks? Most people wait longer for all the romantic bullshit to kick in."

That gave Delrin pause. Was he in love with Silva? Varric was right, of course, he'd only know Silva a few weeks. Could his emotions truly be so strong? Is that even possible?

"Well, whatever the case, her Inquisitorialness has declared we all help look for her. Did she ever mention anyone that sounded... odd?" Varric questions, to which Delrin shakes his head.

"No, she didn't." He downs a third of his ale before continuing; "I've asked her about her past, but she's extremely guarded about it. She wants to talk about it, but at the same time, she doesn't want anyone to know. Something about not showing weakness."

"That's troubling. Hopefully the Dalish connections her Inquisitorialness garnered will help."

"One can only hope, messere."

\---

Keeper Adahlena had been in her aravel for far too long, according to Dalineva. After Aenor's flight from the clan following the argument between the two (once again, about Ashatarylin), she had wanted to say good riddance. She had tired of the shem mage, though she knew that she was the reason for the shem mage's flight. Jealousy was truly an ugly emotion, and it's the very reason Dalineva fought with Ashatarylin. Jealousy and fear. Fear that Keeper Adahlena would name Ashatarylin her First. Jealous that a shem mage took to the magic that Keeper Adahlena taught much faster than she.

Dalineva also fought with Ashatarylin out of pride. Pride in the People, in their histories, histories that Ashatarylin would never be able to understand, since she wasn't one of the People. Keeper Adahlena had given Ashatarylin her own _vallaslin_ , but it was not in dedication to the Creators. It was to honor Ashatarylin herself, made to look like rolling green clouds, since she had been born during a storm (hence, Ashatarylin). Dalineva, like Keeper Adahlena, had her _vallaslin_ dedicated to Mythal.

The clan as a whole had felt the gap that Ashatarylin had left all those years ago. None more so than Aenor. He'd always been the most aggressive of their clan, but Ashatarylin's parting had embittered him in a way no one was prepared for. He'd felt strongly (and "strongly" was a rather light term) for Ashatarylin, but it quickly turned to obsessive rage the day she left. Why? Because Keeper Adahlena forbid him from following, at Ashatarylin's behest.

It had been 4 years since that day, and Aenor had only gotten worse. None in the clan would dare draw near him, and even the hunters were reluctant to include him. He brought in more foliage and game than the other hunters, but there were many that questioned his sanity. For the past 4 years, Aenor had been losing his grip. Even Keeper Adahlena feared his rage might kill him. Dalineva couldn't help but think it'd be a kindness if it did. That he might find peace in the Beyond, since peace clearly would not find him here.

She looked up sharply when Keeper Adahlena walked out of the aravel. Each of the lines on her aged face were visible to the First, even from where she sat in front of her own aravel. Her hair was more grey than brown these days, which truly offset her practically all-seeing dark gaze. Even her dark skin was growing paler with each passing year. Dalineva knew that her place would soon be as Keeper, but knowing that day could be any day was... troubling, at best.

"Dalineva, _da'len_ , what troubles you?" Keeper Adahlena strode over with a confidence that belied her years. "You worry for Aenor, don't you?"

"I worry what he will do." Dalineva confessed. "You saw the letter. He swore he'd have his _Da Fenlin_ , and that we'd all rue the day we let her leave. Never mind the fact that she left of her own volition."

"You've learned to forgive, I see." Keeper Adahlena jested, her dark eyes alight. "I also worry. For both of them. Ashatarylin never cared for him, and I worry what Aenor's rage will do to them. I would beg the Creators that she never know any pain, but I know they would not listen."

"He will try to bond with her." Dalineva spit into a barren fire pit. "It disgusts me to even imagine it. Even _he_ should know a bond is not forced on the unwilling. It will never hold unless she accepts it, and Ashatarylin is far more stubborn than he. She would sooner give in to a demon. I know I would."

Keeper Adahlena went to say something, when a hunter came rushing up. Behind them were an elf (most likely from a shem city) and a human, both in Inquisition regalia (isolated as the Alasvhen clan was, they had still heard of the Inquisition).

"Keeper, these two claim that a member of the Inquisition is Ashatarylin."

"Her name is _Silva_." The human growled, and Dalineva saw Keeper Adahlena narrow her eyes. Her eyes then softened.

"Did this 'Silva' have green _vallaslin_ on her arms? As though it looked like rolling clouds?"

"Yes..."

"That is Ashatarylin. 'Silva' is not her name. I would know. I helped to raise her."

The human and Elf exchanged looks.

"I am Mathras, and this is Bryson." The Elf steps forward. "We worked closely with Sil-er, I mean, Ashatarylin." His tongue tumbles over the name, and Dalineva scowls. Definitely a city elf. "She's been kidnapped, and we were sent to find you."

"Aenor." Keeper Adahlena sighs. "He is a member of our clan. If she has been kidnapped, it is by his hand."

"He didn't say were he was going, Keeper." Dalineva says quietly, eyes lowered.

"I know, _da'len_ , I know." Keeper Adahlena's hand lands on the First's shoulders, and Dalineva relaxes. "But we owe it to them both to look." She turns to the Inquisition agents. "Clan Alasvhen is willing to cooperate with the Inquisition. Our greatest hunters will accompany you back to... Skyhold."

"Why not send Dalineva, Keeper?" The hunter questions.

"I am needed here, _lethallen._ " Dalineva answers.

"As you say, First."

Five hours later, the three best hunters of Clan Alasvhen were off to Skyhold. A knot formed in Dalineva's stomach. There would be much blood shed ahead.

\---

Here. She was _here_. In front of _him_.

Aenor, Hunter of Clan Alasvhen, had longed and loved Ashatarylin for a very long time. She'd always been a rambunctious girl, exploring the woods for weeks on end after setting up camp. It had hurt him, the day she spurned his advances. She'd been a tender 18, an adult by shem standards. That night, he snuck into her aravel, and confessed his feelings. She sent him flying out with a strong mind blast. He hadn't minded. He always liked a challenge.

She sneered at him whenever their eyes met after that, but he knew she felt the same. She simply didn't want anyone to know after that horrendous display. He knew it was a matter of time before he had her.

And now, here she was, strung up and stripped, her naked flesh visible for him to see. Scars littered her legs, and her hands were much rougher than they had been when she had been with the clan. She stared at him with open animosity, and that confused him. She had no choice but to admit her feelings and bond with him. No one else would, given her "abilities." Why did she still refuse him?

With the pull of a chain on one side of the room, he brought her legs up, exposing her core for him to see. He had brought her to the edge multiple times, in his attempt to break her. She would not beg, would not plead. In those moments, he knew she was retreating into herself, disconnecting her mind from her senses, so that she could not acknowledge her body's reactions. She would eventually.

He so desperately wanted to take her, but for now, he would taste her, know her flavor on his tongue.

\---

As soon as Aenor left, Silva dissolved into tears. Betrayed by her body, all that was left was to weep. Hours, days, weeks, mattered not in her new hell. The Creators would not hear her prayers. Delrin's Maker would not hear her prayers.

Alone, she must endure.

Alone, she would plain.

Alone, she would prevail.

Gods strike her if it's to be otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The struggle to find clan names is real. I made one up instead.
> 
> I wasn't sure about whether I would write out the non-con, or imply it. I decided to imply it because the implication is dark enough for me. I could write it in a one-shot, but I doubt anyone wants to read that.
> 
> Also, thanks for all the kudos! All I do is worry whether this story is actually GOOD! So that fact that people actually like makes me happy! (^w^)


	12. Return

When Persephone returned to Skyhold, she knew that they couldn't hesitate. Corypheus was at neither the Winter Palace nor Adamant. She prayed that Leliana would have answers.

Cullen rode beside her, grim-faced. Every so often, she saw flickers of pain in his honey gaze, and knew another headache had taken him. Her heart broke when he hid a flinch from the boisterous laughter behind them. After Adamant, one would think the Inquisitor and her General would join in the laughter. They had won a decisive victory, and had the Wardens on their side. Yet her concerns lay with Cullen.

"Cullen." She said, reaching across to brush his hand with her armored fingers. He turned his head to give her a reassuring smile, but only grimaced as more laughter resounded. She frowned.

"I'm fine, Inquisitor." He muttered, turning his attention forward as they crossed the bridge into Skyhold. As they dismounted, a messenger came forward.

"Milady Inquisitor, Commander Cullen, Sister Nightingale requires your presence in the War Room." The messenger stated. "It is a... delicate matter of utmost urgency."

Persephone nodded, ensuring that her Forder was properly taken care of after the long ride. Then she made her way to the war room. As Cullen and she entered, she noted the serious expressions on Leliana and Josephine's faces. She also noted the newest addition.

"Ser Barris, is something the matter?" She asked, turning her attention to the Knight-Commander. "This is the first I've seen you in the War Room."

"One of my agents has gone missing." Leliana informed them. "Someone that Ser Barris cares for a great deal."

"Why not send them what they need to escape?" Cullen asked. "Isn't that what you did the last time one of yours was compromised?" Persephone saw as realization hit him. "Sweet Maker, you're not talking about...?"

"Greensleeves, yes." Leliana said, a frown touching her lips. "Inquisitor, with your word, I am prepared to launch an investigation into her disappearance. Whoever took her must have a great many spies."

"How do we know she didn't just leave?" Cullen questioned.

"She was taken within the confines of Skyhold." Ser Barris interjected. "Inquisitor, please."

Persephone sighed. She knew that look on Ser Barris' face. It was the same face VieVie had made when she was 17 and claimed to be totally in love with a boy from Starkhaven. Talks had been in the works for a marriage, but the boy was shipped to the Kirkwall Chantry instead. This face, however, was completely genuine.

"Do it, Leliana."

"Inquisitor."

"Persephone..." Cullen was frowning.

"Go lay down, love." Persephone said gently, giving Cullen a smile. "You need the rest."

\---

A young mage woman sat in the barracks in Skyhold, pale blue eyes observing the agents that came and went. Ice would crackle on her hands whenever anyone dared approach. That was usually all the warning they needed.

They knew not to mess with Bellatrix Faire when she was in a sour mood.

_Or, Bellatrix Trevelyan now_ , Bellatrix thought sourly. She had always known that her mother was some noblewoman that her father had an... arrangement with. Something the woman and her noble husband wanted to try. "Spice up the bedroom" and all that. But to know it was the eighth (or thereabouts) most prominent noble house in Ostwick? She'd even _met_ Lady Liviette Trevelyan, wife of Bann Josef Trevelyan, at one of Lady Lucille Trevelyan's balls. She and some other mages had been invited as "entertainment" for the evening. Lady Liviette was a lovely woman, blonde hair pulled into an elegant bun.

It wasn't like Bellatrix _hadn't_ noticed the similarities between herself and Lady Liviette, as well as the similarities between herself and ladies Evelyn, Genevieve and Persephone Trevelyan. She just hadn't thought it possible until now.

Beside her sat a letter from her father, one that had shook her world to its very core. Most of it was wind up, but the punch line was the real kicker:

_My dearest Bella, I must tell you the truth about your birth mother. Your birth mother is Lady Liviette Trevelyan, wife of Bann Josef Trevelyan of Ostwick. It was mutually agreed that you be raised by me, to spare you from the scrutiny of the other noble houses._

What had also angered her was that he waited until her 28th birthday to tell her. Yup, today was her birthday, and her father waited until now to tell her that she was half Trevelyan.

"Oi, Bels." One of the scouts said, waving a hand in front of her face. Ice manifested on her hands. "Oh, you know that don't scare me none. Some of us are heading to the tavern. Wanna come?"

"Not now, Hendic." Bellatrix sighed. "I have a letter to write."

"Come on, Bels." The scout pleaded. "You've been moody since your da's letter arrived. What is it?"

"It's nothing, Hendic." Bellatrix stood abruptly, silencing the scout. "Now go fuck off in the tavern. I need to clear my head."

The mage woman stormed off, not stopping until she came upon the Commander's tower. She'd gone through there before, yes, but somehow now felt... different. For a long time now, she'd harbored a rather minor crush on the man-and some of the Inquisitor's inner circle come to think of it. But now that she knew the man happened to be her _half-sister's beau_... It changed everything.

With a sigh, she all but barreled through the office, not even noticing how empty it was. She stopped when she realized where she was. The bottom floor of the rotunda. The elven apostate's territory.

She had always thought Solas to be an intriguing, intelligent, charming man, and they had spoken a few times about magical matters. She knew her heart well, though, and knew that she harbored rather strong feelings. Nothing he'd ever return, of course-

"Miss Faire?" Speak of the devil, and the devil shall appear. Bellatrix turns to face the elven apostate.

"Hello again, Solas." She greets him, a warm smile on her lips. "I apologize if I was disturbing you."

"It is no problem, Miss Faire." He replied, returning her smile with a more polite one. "Was there something you wished to discuss?"

"Not really, no." She answered, her smile falling. "It's stupid, really."

"What has caused you to think such?" He asks, but she sees what he's doing. The concealed curiosity in his eyes belies his polite tone.

"It's a family matter, one I would not drag you into." She replies, averting her eyes. If she stared any longer, she might have bared all right then and there.

"If you are certain, Miss Faire." Still holding the door open, waiting.

"You really want to know, don't you?" She asks, daring to meet his gaze once more. It didn't hold the intensity it did when they discussed magic. Instead, there was a polite, friendly warmth. She chuckled. "Why?"

"Is it truly horrible to extend one's hand in friendship?" He questions, a wry smile on his lips.

"No, I suppose not." She sighs, moving to sit on the sofa. He chooses to stand. "One thing you must know is that I never knew my birth mother. Technically, I am the result of an affair with a noblewoman and her husband. Wanting to "spice up the bedroom" and all that rubbish. My father and I have kept in contact since I was sent to the Ostwick Circle, but it wasn't until now that he informed me of who my birth mother is."

"And who is this woman?" If Solas was appalled, he didn't show it. Bellatrix had to applaud him for that.

"Lady Liviette Trevelyan, wife of Bann Josef Trevelyan of Ostwick." She answers with some hesitation. "I have doubts, of course, though I know my father would rarely lie in that concern. _If_ true... it would make the Inquisitor my younger half-sister."

They are both silent for a moment, simply staring at each other. Then she notices the cup on his desk.

"More tea?" She says it as a jest, to distract. A wry smile is given in lieu of a reply. "You hate tea."

"I do." He chuckles, and she ignores the lurch in her heart.

They talk a few minutes more about his hatred for tea, and Bellatrix leaves feeling a little lighter... Until she gets back to the barracks to burn the letter and finds it gone.

Well... shit.

\---

Josephine regarded the letter before her with a bit of trepidation. Leliana stood before her, arms crossed. For the past few days, Leliana had been hinting that she suspected there was some relation between the Inquisitor and one of the mages, Bellatrix Faire. Josephine knew it was a distraction until the delegation from the Alasvhen clan arrived, and she had to admit they could do with a few more friends in the Free Marches; House Trevelyan's support had slacked slightly of late.

"And you are sure that Messere Faire is correct?" She asked the redhead tentatively. "There are no records of a child born from an affair."

"There are if you know where to look." Leliana states. "I was in contact with the family nanny, as well as the Inquisitor's eldest brother, Ser Hanwyn Trevelyan. They both confirm that in the early months of 9:13 Dragon, Liviette Trevelyan bore a child, a little girl. When I asked if either had heard the name "Faire" they both wrote that the girl's biological father's name was Faire."

"How is this supposed to help us, Leliana?" Josephine inquires, though the wheels in her head are already turning. With this knowledge, they could pressure House Trevelyan into leveraging their reputation with their peers. The "heavy-hitters" of the nobility in Ostwick, backing the Inquisition... The possibilities were endless.

"You already know, Josie." Leliana smiled, and Josephine feels herself relax. "Besides the obvious leverage, anyone wishing to ally with House Trevelyan to gain standing with the Inquisition would not mind marriage with an illegitimate child, even a mage one. Perhaps a way to placate the Prince of Starkhaven?"

"It would take quite a bit of twisting." Josephine murmured. "I shall think on it. As well as prepare quarters for the delegation from Clan Alasvhen."

With that, Leliana left, and Josephine let out a sigh. Now, to figure out the best way to inform all parties involved (namely, the Inquisitor and Lady Genevieve) that Miss Bellatrix Faire was half-Trevelyan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed that when I listed all of Persephone's elder siblings, there was only 5 of them. So, I threw in a hidden 6th one! Bellatrix was born, as noted in the chapter, in early 9:13 Dragon. Persephone was born a bit closer to mid 9:14 Dragon, making her a year younger than Bellatrix, 3 years younger than Evelyn, Genevieve, Weston, and Cullen, and about 7 or so years younger than Hanwyn and Maxwell.


	13. Attempt

Freezing and heating the chains that bind in rapid succession whenever _he_ isn't in there. There isn't a tool on the walls around her that he hasn't used in his attempt to break her. Now, it was time for her own attempt.

She would leave this place, or die trying.

With a metallic groan, the chains give way, falls to the ground in a heap. Her mana is nearly drained, however, the magebane has been out of her system since arrival. Eases herself up, begins rubbing her wrists raw with the manacles. A trickle of blood, sends it into the locks, prying them open.

Gets to her feet, muscles protesting, wrists and ankles raw and bleeding. Limps to the door, finds it unlocked. Too easy. Casts a barrier as she enters the hall, grey-blue eyes cast about, sends a pulse around with what mana remains. Clear for now, may not remain so. Continues down the hall, picking at her wrists, drawing more blood.

Voices coming her way, backs into a dark alcove, casts a cloaking barrier. Two servants pass by, idle gossip on their lips. Waits until they pass, then continues, keeping the cloaking barrier in place. Comes upon a window, looks out. Tall trees sway behind a decorative wall, clearly Orlesian. Three floors up, with what look to be freshly trimmed bushes below.

Opens the window, knowing what she plans is stupid. Stupidity may just get her out, so she goes with it. One leg, then the other, looks down. Reinforcing the barrier, leaps to the bushes below, biting back a cry as the brances cut into her skin. Rolls onto the ground, takes a moment to breath. Gets up as a cry resounds from the window above. Tears spring to her eyes as pain screeches through her body, bites her lip as she breaks into a sprint. One ankle is definitely sprained, can't focus on that.

Pain erupts from her back, falls to the ground. Footsteps on the ground as she crawls, a sole boot lands on a raw wrist, bites back a scream.

"You got so far, too, _Da Fenlin_." _He_ speaks, refuses to look up. "No match against my prowlers. Take her back to her room, fetch the healer for that ankle. Double the watch on the walls. Even the Inquisition would choose to check an "abandoned" chateau."

All that is heard before black numbness takes her.

\---

"And this Aenor has harbored this obsession with Greensleeves since she was 18?" Leliana questioned, incredulous. The delegation had finally arrived, bringing much relief to Josephine. She still didn't have a solution to the Miss Faire situation. The elven hunter before them nodded. The two hunters behind him watched their surroundings warily.

"Aenor has always been cocky." Borean (that was his name) stated. "If you wish to find him, look to the Dales. His sister, my bond mate, stated that he spoke of an abandoned Orlesian manor there that he planned to use as a base while "hunting." Ashatarylin was always a bit of a loner, but I speak for my clan when I say that we were sad to see her go, and are willing to work with the Inquisition to get her back."

Leliana gives a nod, and Josephine watches as the spymaster takes a sip of her wine... then immediately spits it out a window. Josephine feels her brows furrow as Leliana dumps the rest of the goblet out the window. The redhead glowers at her cup, setting it back on the wartable. Cullen sends Leliana a puzzled look, but the tension in his shoulders doesn't ease. The Commander has been on edge since the delegation arrived, mere minutes after Morrigan swept off to the gardens with the Inquisitor in tow.

"Something wrong with your wine?" He asks. Leliana simply frowns, shaking her head.

"Nothing you need worry about, Commander." Leliana waves a hand, turning her attention back to the elven hunters. "There is only one Orlesian manor I can think of in the Dales that has been abandoned. Chateau D'Onterre, in the Emerald Graves. It's been abandoned for ages, rumored to be possessed. The Inquisitor was able to break the curse, but I hadn't thought that anyone would be willing to move in-even unofficially."

"Shall we confer with your scouts upon their return?" Borean asked, earning another nod from Leliana.

"In the meantime, let me show you to your quarters." Josephine smiled diplomatically, escorting the delegation to their shared quarters. She knew it was best to keep the delegation away from the barracks, unsure of how they would react to working non-Dalish elves and humans.

She opened the door for them, waving them in. The quarters were spacious enough for three bedrolls, and an apology hovered on her tongue for the small quarters.

"Much larger than the aravels." One hunter said to another, grins on their faces. Borean turned and gave Josephine a nod, before gently closing the door. As she turned and made her way back to the antechamber, she noticed a dark-haired woman sitting cross-legged on the stone floor, eyes on a book before her, spectacles on a remarkably familiar nose. Rather than disturb the woman, she continued down the wall.

If the letter was true, then she had to admit, Miss Faire looked remarkably similar to her half-sisters.

\---

When Bellatrix Faire arrived at the top of the rotunda, Leliana made sure to keep her wine hidden. The cloying taste of too-ripe molasses still clung to her tongue, and she knew the mage was responsible. As the woman made her way, Leliana made a motion around her eyes, and Miss Faire instantly took off her spectacles.

"I didn't realize you needed spectacles." Leliana commented. "They aren't cheap."

"Only to read." Miss Faire admitted. "Am I here for a reason, Sister Nightingale?"

"A letter came naught but a few days ago." Leliana said, her blue eyes never leaving Miss Faire's, whose pale blues hardened. "A letter for you, Miss Faire. It contained... rather controversial information. I wondered if you might verify the claims in the letter."

"I know the letter you speak of, Sister Nightingale." Miss Faire stated calmly. "The information within was private, a personal matter I would thank you to _not_ pry into. No, I cannot verify my father's claims. If you want to know so badly, ask him and/or Lady Liviette."

"I see." Leliana narrowed her eyes. Miss Faire simply inclined her head and turned, heading toward the stairs. She stopped just before the first step and turned around.

"I hope you enjoyed your wine, Sister Nightingale." Miss Faire smiled. "I've always preferred molasses to honey. Really helps my sweet tooth."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always thought it weird that after you clear out Chateau D'Onterre, you never really hear about it again. Perfect place for Aenor the Asshole to make his base, right?


	14. Chateau D'Onterre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that it's technically Chateau d'Onterre, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Persephone had to admit, when Josephine stated (in the most polite terms imaginable) that she had an older half-sister, she was content to politely call bullshit. Then, in walked the last person she thought she'd see; her eldest brother, Ser Hanwyn Trevelyan. Besides their shared auburn hair, Hanwyn and Persephone both inherited their father's teal irises, rather than their mother's green. They had been as close as the eldest and youngest could be (it had been Hanwyn that talked her into life with the Chantry), but they squabbled before she left for the Conclave, and she'd been too caught up with the Inquisition to write any other siblings outside of Evelyn.

"Hanwyn?" She inquired in disbelief. "I thought you were with Max, looking for Genevieve."

"We knew she'd come here." Hanwyn smirked. "Max is talking her down now. You and I both know how VieVie is. At any rate, I came on behalf of Mother."

"Don't tell me that this "Faire" man is telling the truth." Persephone pleaded. "A secret half-sister? Why would Mama keep this hidden?"

"Reputation, of course." Hanwyn sighed. "You know how Mother is. After all the fuss of her marriage to Father, she still fears for the Trevelyan reputation. And it's not as though our half-sister was really secret. Mother never did hide her letters well. Miss Faire would never have been in the Ostwick Circle with Evie if not for Mother."

"So, it's true?" Persephone let out the breath she'd been holding. "Does Papa know?"

"Of course." Hanwyn replied. "Father was responsible for the "arrangement" between himself, Mother, and Messere William-that's Miss Faire's father. According to Mother, when she became pregnant, she was certain that the child was Father's. They went to the Circle to to assess the child's health, and one of the mages said that the child wasn't his. When she was born, she was born with black hair, not auburn. I only got to see her a few times when she was a babe, before Messere William left."

"An older half-sister..." She let out a huff. "Varric's right. The shit that happens to me _is_ weird."

"Would you like me to inform your other siblings, Inquisitor?" Josephine asked, and she realized she'd wholly forgotten the ambassador was even in the room. Guilt flooded through her at this revelation.

"Of course." She said with a nod. "Best to let Hanwyn be involved. They'll be more likely to believe it if it comes from him."

"Max as well." Hanwyn suggested. "Mostly for Evie's sake. She'll believe me, but will look to him for confirmation."

"You do that, then."

\---

Ophelia let out an audible sigh as she sat in the library, feeling rather than seeing the eyes of a Templar on her on the other side of the rotunda. After 4 years of not feeling eyes on the back of her neck, she was unaccustomed to the sensation. In the Circle, she learned to ignore the constant watch, especially since her time with Guinevere left her with near-constant nightmares. Upon receiving permission from Irving to live with Teagan after he proposed, she learned to live without the stares. She had only gone back to the Circle once, to visit Irving a week before he passed away.

Since then, with the blessing of the new First Enchanter, she had dwelled happily in Redcliffe Castle. It was through pure stubbornness that she helped convince Teagan to shelter the rebel mages in Redcliffe when the Mage-Templar War started. Even then, she never felt eyes, not even when that Tevinter magister usurped Redcliffe. Not until she came here, where there were Templars around every corner, watching everything and nothing all at once. Sometimes, she felt like Skyhold was nothing more than a glorified Circle, there were so many Templars.

When she did look up, it was to greet a pair of familiar blue hues, and she relaxed. Leliana smiled, sitting on the floor before her.

"You looked like you needed some company." Leliana said, and Ophelia let out a breathless laugh.

"Understatement of the century, Leliana." She smiled good-naturedly at the former lay-sister. "Have you heard from Guinevere?"

"I have." Leliana smiled secretively. "She misses me. And nearly punched Oghren. You remember him, yes?"

"Hard to forget." Ophelia giggled. "Constantly drunk dwarves make quite the impression. At the moment, I'd prefer him to the constant Templar watch." Her hazel eyes flicked across the rotunda. Leliana shook her head, and Ophelia could just see the braid in Leliana's short red hair.

"If it makes you feel any better, Teagan wrote me." Leliana informed her. "He's threatening to march on Skyhold if anything happens to you. It was through the Maker's will that I convinced him to delay the army."

"That's a bunch of druffalo shit if I ever heard it." Ophelia laughed. "Teagan would bring the soldiers if I got even the smallest paper cut."

"Then we must endeavor to prevent that." Leliana chuckled. Then, she stood. "At any rate, I must be off. Coordinating the march to the Arbor Wilds as well as finding Silva is quite the task."

"Not to mention defending Skyhold from my Lord husband's wrath." Ophelia rolled her eyes. "He can be as dramatic as Isolde, in a proper fashion."

As Leliana made her way to the top of the rotunda, Ophelia made her way to the stables. Being near the magnificent beasts always calmed her, which made reading easier to do. She made her way up into the loft in the attached barn, purposely ignoring the stare of the "Grey Warden" therein. She'd talked to him once, about the Wardens. His answers were evasive at best, and he visibly blanched when she mentioned knowing Guinevere (though she'd referred to her as Warden-Commander Cousland). So, obviously, there was something going on there. This "Warden" had either never bothered to learn more of his order, or was no Warden at all.

With Guinevere out west looking for a way to end the Calling, and Alistair on the throne in Ferelden, she had no way to prove her suspicions. Thus, she kept them to herself. As she sat down on a hay bale, tucking her legs under her, she had to wonder if she was the only suspicious person in Skyhold.

\---

Delrin packed everything he would need for the Emerald Graves, as well as the Arbor Wilds. Sister Leliana knew where Sil- _Ashatarylin_ (Maker, her name was a mouthful) was, and woe upon anyone that kept him from her. The first face she saw when they liberated her from Chateau D'Onterre would be his-he swore it.

"Rather aggressive packing, there." A voice from behind, and he turns to meet the stalwart green eyes of Maxwell Trevelyan, the Inquisitor's elder brother and heir apparent, after his twin brother Hanwyn. "You must be Ser Barris. Purse has said some good things about you."

"Purse? I'm afraid I don't-" Delrin's eyebrows furrowed, but he silenced himself when Maxwell waved a hand.

""Purse" is a nickname for Persephone." He explained. "The Inquisitor, as you most likely know her. It's easier to say than her name, and to this day, I've no idea why Mother chose to name her that when the rest of us have relatively normal names... But I digress. Off to save your lady-love?"

"I'm sure it's of no interest to you, serah." Delrin said diplomatically, turning back to his packing. His hand landed on the tunic he wore the first time they supped together (a first date, as Master Tethras called it), and pain constricted in his chest. Ashatarylin was dear to him, and knowing that she was in pain, suffering, while he deliberated over what to bring with him...

"That's were you're wrong, Ser Templar." He heard more than saw the smile in Maxwell's voice. "Matters of the heart have always been my business. They certainly aren't for my brothers. And it's best not to look to Genevieve. Persephone is also out of the question-she'd been preparing to take her vows when she was sent to the Conclave. Evelyn doesn't have any beaus as far as I know... But that's not why I'm here. Since you're off to save your lady-love, I've some advice."

"Advice?" Delrin shot Maxwell a look. "What would you know of rescuing fair maidens that infuriate you every second of the day? Not to mention that our very natures are meant to oppose."

"True, but this is something rather sound." Maxwell rolled his eyes. "Would you like to hear it?"

"Couldn't hurt."

"Don't do anything terribly heroic. You get hurt trying to save her, she will blame herself. You're known for your cool head, Ser Barris, but love has a way of disarming even a head as cool as yours. So, for her sake, don't be stupid."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weird topic, but I've actually considered compiling a list of theme songs for the people in this fic. You guys can even suggest one, whether for an individual, or a ship (the manner of the ship depends entirely on you). 
> 
> Also, Chapter 15 should be done by tomorrow, or the next day, so there's that. :D


	15. Liberation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am no good at writing daring rescues.

The birds chattered high in the branches as a small party neared Chateau D'Onterre. As they neared the gate, they paused, taking cover in the underbrush. Borean and the two Alasvhen hunters split from the main party to quietly take out the perimeter guard on the walls. Delrin kept still, only moving when his body protested its current position. They'll have the element of surprise, if nothing else.

Leliana had sent a scouting party a few days previous, in between the parties sent to the Arbor Wilds with the Orlesian scouts, but the report was thin at best. Twelve on the walls, fifteen patrolling the grounds itself, but the number in the chateau itself is unknown. When he was informed, the word "unknown" instantly became his least favorite word.

The hunters return, then, serious looks on their faces. Delrin raised an eyebrow, saying nothing.

"The perimeter guard is down." Borean states. "The ground patrol is incapacitated, locked away. Ten on the inside, from my estimate. If we're going to save Ashatarylin, it has to be now, before Aenor suspects something's amiss."

With a nod, their small party heads across the bridge onto the manicured lawn of Chateau D'Onterre. Exotic trees-obviously transplanted from the D'Onterre's time-dotted the landscape. Anyone passing by would think that Chateau D'Onterre was the typical Orlesian country house, but they didn't know of the twisted bastard lurking within.

If Aenor was going to learn one thing today, it's that there would be no separating Knight-Commander Ser Delrin Barris from Silva/Ashatarylin. On second thought, he'll just stick to Silva.

\---

A new room, new toys. Betrayal by her body, retreats into her mind. Can barely sleep, the desire to escape, see a face that is both new and old is so strong. Gotten to a point where she's too busy fighting the demons in her head. _He_ thinks submission, stubborn fool. Bonds are not forced, cannot be forced.

Closes her eyes as the door opens. Dressed in rags, feet stuffed in mismatching boots, being dragged from the room. Opens eyes to see _him,_ dragging her down the hall, shouting.

"Keep them busy! I don't care if you can't fight or not!" A bellow, servants scurrying down the hall. "No one is keeping me from my bond mate!"

"I am not your bond mate!" She cries, lashing out. A gasp, a recoil, and she takes off, sinking into the crowd of scared servants. Fingers reaching out, brushing the rags, and she forces her legs to move, pushing through the crowd. Freedom, an escape in the chaos at tips of bruised fingers. Races through a small courtyard, enters a library of sorts. Takes a right, _follow the servants_. Bursts into the vestibule, small party fighting off _his_ mercenaries. Servants a fleeing through the open door, goes to follow, fumbling fingers grab the rags.

Fights as best she can, there, a shape behind him, sword poised above _his_ head. Uses _his_ blood, freshly falling from ragged scratches, to hold him still as sword meets flesh, muscle, and bone, a clean heave of head from shoulder. She's seen it before, untangles from dead, still fingers. Looks up, and freezes, storm blue eyes widening as they meet bright green.

"Delrin." Says the name like a prayer, and he smiles.

"Silva." The answer thrills her heart. She lunges up, planting her chapped lips on his, needing some confirmation that she's _alive_ and _safe._ He responds by dropping his sword, wrapping his sword arm about her, holding her close. It isn't right, not safe, in the middle of a battle, but Creators, she's _longed for this._

The battle has stopped, _his_ mercenaries all but gone. They part to a whoop from behind, spins on her heel, realization hits.

"Borean? Galifalon? Isenam?" Disbelief in her tone, despite the smiles in front of her. Sinks into the welcoming arms of her friends. Hardest to leave them, when she did.

"It's good to see you, Ashatarylin." Galifalon chirps, always chirpy, like a little bird. "Now, let's get you back to that Skyhold place before your Templar roasts us all." Sends a smile Delrin's way, can already envision the scowl as a familiar arm wraps about her waist.

\---

Sister Leliana listened quietly as Silva began relaying what happened. Delrin hovered at the staircase, eyes trained on her like a hawk. He couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't over, like there'd be more for them to weather. There was still the march to the Wilds, as well as Silva recuperating from her ordeal. They had rode back to Skyhold only to find it storming, and Silva looked increasingly uncomfortable as they walked to the top of the rotunda. He was considering going to the healer for a sleeping potion, but wasn't sure if she'd take it.

When she got to her time in the chateau, she slowly started to lock up. Her normally tan skin was paling even more than when he found her, and there was a slight shake in her hands. Finally stepping away from the stairs, he cleared his throat before putting a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, and he felt... _something_ probe him before she relaxed into him.

"We shall speak more of it when you are ready, Greensleeves." Sister Leliana gave a gentle smile before dismissing them. As they make their way to the Great Hall through the library, Silva stops on the staircase between the two areas. She looked conflicted.

"Silva?" He says, but she continues to look into space. "Silva, darling, look at me."

"I thought I'd never see you again." She mutters, meeting his gaze. "I thought I'd need to get out alone. That I _was_ alone. And then... you came. For me. You saved me."

"And I'd do it all over again." He says, stepping forward to wrap her in his arms. Was she always so frail? So ready to break, bursting at the seams? He doesn't know, but the way she shakes, and the inevitable tear stains on his tunic says volumes. So, he doesn't press, doesn't murmur sweet nothings in her ear. He holds her, as she breaks.

\---

"It appears that Miss Maleficus is safe." Cullen muses, watching Persephone look over reports at her desk in her quarters. "I suppose you'll want Ser Barris to stay at Skyhold."

"No point." Persephone says, putting a report down and picking up another. "Greensleeves requested to go to the Arbor Wilds, despite her ordeal. I think it's insane, but Leliana approved it. Her fellow clan mates are staying as well. Moral support, which is a good thing."

"Do they know she's a blood mage?" He asks, rising up from the couch in her quarters, unstrapping his armor. His cloak, however, is a different story. He watches as Persephone turns her head, closes her eyes, and simply inhales the fur, and _Maker_ if she isn't the biggest tease. He's suddenly very grateful she never took her vows.

"No, as far as I know." Persephone shrugs with sigh. "Are you sure you can't part with this for a couple of days?"

"Persephone..." He rolled his eyes when she attempted a pout. "When you tell me how Genevieve reacted to Miss Faire." She frowns, and he chuckles. He'd seen Miss Faire a few times, walking the ramparts, eyes hard as ice, element of the same name crackling on her hands. Her face was marginally smaller in width in comparison to her sisters, but he recognized the slope of her nose, the sharp but unassuming cheekbones, the same features shared by Persephone and Genevieve. Miss Faire, however, didn't have their freckles, and tended to keep her eyes lined heavily with kohl.

"I'll have Josephine make its twin, then." She said calmly, diplomatically, standing. She closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms slowly about his neck. "I think I look quite handsome in it. What do you think?"

He dared not answer, all blood going south. Her voice's already low, dulcet tones had dropped, indicating just where her thoughts seemed to always go when they were alone. Not that he was about to complain, of course. She made it clear that she would only go as far as he let her, and her thoughts only strayed whenever they were in each other's respective quarters, away from the Inquisition.

Thus, he simply swept her up bridal style, and went straight for her bed, unable to resist smiling as she giggled much unlike the 27-year-old woman she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still collecting songs! :v
> 
> And yes, Delrin and Silva's first kiss is in the middle of a battle. Nothing makes sense with those two, I swear.


	16. Arguments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have this chapter and the next one written up, so today's a double chapter day! :D

Squabbles between family members are a given. But when one is a 30-year-old woman who learns that she now has _two_ mage sisters, those squabbles turn into wars. Genevieve had fought with her twins, with her elder siblings, and Purse at one point, but this was yet another straw on a broken camel's back.

"I don't even remember this Messere William!" She shrieked (yes, shrieked) for the umpteenth time. "You expect me to just welcome the latest edition with open arms?"

"No, but I expect you to be civil!" Purse screamed. "At least let me introduce her. Evie's going to be here the day after tomorrow, and then I'm off to the Arbor Wilds. Do this, and I can get you introduced to the Imperial Court."

"Fine." Genevieve pursed her painted lips as she nodded, turning and exiting her younger sister's quarters. As she entered the Great Hall, she caught sight of the Lady Amell, and made her way over. It had been too long since she talked with any of the nobles in Ferelden (Orlesian nobility tended to look down their masked noses at her, the pretentious leeches), and the Lady Amell was said to have ties to the Guerrins.

"Excuse me, Lady Amell?" She said politely, a diplomatic smile on her features. "I am Genevieve Trevelyan, the Inquisitor's elder sister. I thought I'd introduce myself."

"Lady Ophelia Amell." Lady Amell smiled, giving a curtsy to Genevieve. "Though it's technically an unofficial title until this business with Corypheus subsides."

"Oh?" Genevieve tried to not widen her green eyes. "Does this have to do with your ties with the Guerrins?"

"Ties? Is that what they call it?" Lady Amell laughed. "Well, what's the harm in telling people now? It's going to be public knowledge eventually. I haven't been Ophelia Amell for four years, though hardly anyone outside the Hinterlands knows that. Arl Teagan Guerrin is my husband."

Shock ripped through the auburnette. Arl Teagan was married? And not to just anyone, but a mage? Talk of the age score!

"At any rate, I have a carriage to catch." Lady Amell curtsied once more. "Now you may have the pleasure of saying you met Redcliffe's unofficial Arlessa. Until we meet again, Lady Genevieve."

With that, the Lady Amell swept out of the Great Hall. Later, Genevieve wouldn't be able to recall being so star struck, but for now, she was in a daze.

\---

When Ophelia returned to Redcliffe, it was all Teagan could do from swooping (never mind Alistair's policy on swooping) down on her and whisking off to their bedroom. However, with Connor visiting, he couldn't very well do that-yet. His time would come.

"Is someone here, Uncle Teagan?" Connor's voice drifted through the Main Hall as he was kissing Ophelia senseless. "Aunt Ophelia? You're back?"

"I'm never going to get used to that." Ophelia said ruefully, spinning in his arms to face their nephew (four years, and he never tired of the word "their"). "Hello, Connor. How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine." The boy said dejectedly, and Teagan frowned. Being in Redcliffe was difficult enough for Connor, but Redcliffe Castle? The boy carried too much guilt, and neither he nor Eamon had much success easing the boy's burdens. Even Isolde had troubles, should talk turn to magic. Connor clung to his parents still, but when magical matters arose, he turned instantly to his Aunt Ophelia.

"No, you're not." Ophelia sighed. "But that's okay. I'm not, either."

"You don't have blood on your hands..." Connor looked up, looking rather consternated. He knew that look. It was the same argument between them time and again.

"Connor." Teagan intervened before Ophelia could start. "Your aunt has only recently returned. You've just arrived. Now is not the time for arguments. You're not a monster, you were a boy scared for his father. Not all mages are monsters."

"Yes, we are!" He objected, because _of course he does_. Stubbornness was a standout quality in Guerrin men.

"Does that make me a monster, Connor?" Ophelia fixed a hard stare on their now fidgeting nephew. Connor would argue that all mages are monsters, but Ophelia could never be a monster. She helped _save_ him, she's his uncle's _wife_. She fought tooth and nail to keep Connor out of that Tevinter magister's clutches, by the Maker! The closest to monstrous she'd ever get was when she unwittingly helped destroy Jowan's phylactery, and not even then.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Ophelia." He mumbled, before stepping forward to envelope Ophelia in a hug. "I'm glad you're back. It's just... difficult, I suppose. All that blood on my hands..."

"You were a boy."

"I still..."

"No more on the subject." Teagan said tenderly. "We've lunch to have and catching up to do."

\---

Ser Hanwyn Trevelyan didn't really miss the bickering. When Evelyn arrived, she and VieVie went to town, bickering about one topic; Bellatrix Faire. Evelyn was willing to accept this newest addition to the line-up, VieVie was against it, and poor Purse was stuck in the middle, playing diplomat. He had to admit, she took to the role with ease. Beside him, he heard a sigh, and he turned to face his near-identical twin.

"Makes me miss home." Max said dryly, and Hanwyn snorted. He had to admit, it was rather similar to how things were in Ostwick. The only exception was that Mother was the one that broke up the fights. "How long before Purse breaks?"

"In three... two..." Hanwyn gestured to the youngest Trevelyan as a consternated expression possessed her features.

"Enough!" Purse said, her voice a mere octave below shouting. "You said you could be civil, VieVie. If you want to meet the Imperial Court, you'll be civil with Miss Faire."

"I _am_ going to be civil, Purse." Genevieve managed to sound genuinely insulted, though the way she flippantly tossed her curls showed she wasn't. Hanwyn and Max sighed, rolling their eyes, earning a scathing look from VieVie. He knew she didn't mean it.

It was then that a woman entered, dark hair pulled into a curly mare's tail, carefully sliding a pair of large, round spectacles into a case.

"Bad eyesight, joy." Max muttered, and Hanwyn elbowed his twin. The woman sent a hard glare their way, her pale blue eyes turning to ice.

"Apologies for my twin brother." Hanwyn said with a slight bow. "Ser Hanwyn Trevelyan of Ostwick, heir of Bann Josef Trevelyan." He gestured first to Max, "Maxwell Trevelyan, my twin brother and heir apparent," then to Evelyn and VieVie, "Ladies Evelyn and Genevieve Trevelyan," and finally to Purse, "And, of course, you know Lady Inquisitor Persephone. If you wish, you could always call her Purse."

"The only person missing is Weston." Evelyn said. "Weston is Genevieve and I's twin brother."

"Bellatrix Faire." The woman-Bellatrix-replied. "My spectacles are for reading, which I was doing when I was fetched. So... what happens now? Am I supposed to just welcome you all with open arms?"

"Maker, no." Purse laughed (actually laughed, he was so shocked). "Not immediately. I felt it was only right you meet most of your half-siblings, so, here we are."

"Yes, well, pleasure to meet you all." Bellatrix frowned. "Am I dismissed, Your Worship?" Hanwyn saw Purse nod, and Bellatrix left. All in all, not a bad first meeting.

\---

"You're not going!" Delrin nearly declared, eyes never deviating from her form. A sigh, an eye roll, she turns to face him.

"You mean well, I know." She says, meeting his eyes. "I have to go."

"It's only been a week, Silva." A sigh, a shake of the head. "You're really no other way to... cope with what happened?"

"No, I don't." A frown, emotion swirling, churning, breaking the dam. "How am I supposed to deal with it, _fenorain_? Having those... things done to me, day in and day out, no hope for escape? My very body betraying me, fighting demons in my head because my want to escape was so strong? My anger so great?"

Delrin sighs, takes a step forward, **a grin on _his_ face, lips licked, delving down to her core.**

Lashes out, unthinking, just needs to get out get out _get out_. Pain from her chest, envelopes from head to toe, voices yelling in a hall. Arms envelope her, can't see, _can't see_. A whimper as the black claims her.

Comes to in the infirmary, a young medic eyeing her closely, then turning to the bedroll beside her. Moonlight filters through the windows, quiet but for the groans.

"Silva." Beside her, Delrin, worry on his face.

"Who's the ass that smited me?" A jest, and he sighs, obviously fighting a smile.

"Now do you believe me?" She makes a non-committal sound, and he chuckles. Heart feels full to bursting, a half-smile as she slowly moves to a sitting position. Lips on hers, returns the kiss, a hand gently pressed to a whiskered cheek. Their second kiss, in an infirmary.

"It appears we are doomed to kissing in improper places." She states with a pained giggle.

"Rest, Silva-bear. We can talk more in the morning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation time!
> 
> Fenorain - Little precious, similar to "darling"
> 
> Big shout out to FenxShiral for that little gem.
> 
> Also, Persephone only ever screams at her siblings, and only in private. She'd never get into a screaming match in public. Doesn't really handle those well.


	17. Interlude 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right. More letters. :P

_Dearest Bellatrix,_

_I must have written this letter a thousand times. How, exactly, does one write to the child they gave up? Because I did give you up, to protect you, and your father, William. You look so much like him, it's hard to believe that there's any of me in you. He even had a penchant for lining his eyes with kohl, though not so heavily as you, my dear girl._

_You have every right to be angry with me, and know that I understand it. I knew the way you would be treated, by the nobility, by the common classes, the looks you would receive. I knew how the gossipers would react, claim that I cuckolded my husband, when nothing could be further from the truth. All the preventive measures in the world couldn't eliminate the risk of pregnancy. And fall pregnant I did._

_It was such a joyous occasion, the fact that you might not be Josef's was the farthest thing from my mind. Joy changed to worry when it was revealed that you were William's. The last thing any of us wanted for you was the life of an illegitimate child in the spotlight. The nobility of the Free Marches are an unforgiving lot, and I could not have you be part of it if I could help it. It was decided to keep my pregnancy private, and for William to take you as soon as he was able._

_I doubt you will have read this far, but if you have... know that I love you. I don't expect you to love me back, and I honestly understand if you hate me. Giving you up was a hard decision, but it is one that I do not regret. I didn't stop being active in your life, even if behind the scenes. When you came into your magic, I arranged to have you in the Ostwick Circle, rather than Starkhaven's. It took a bit of pull, but the Knight-Commander of Ostwick's Circle owes me some favors, and it's always been the safest of the Circles in the Free Marches-as safe as any Circle can be._

_I hope that we might talk face-to-face after the business with this Elder One is finished. If you don't wish to see me, then that will be that. Know that Trevelyan Manor is always open to you._

_With Love and Sincerity,_

_Lady Liviette Eliza Trevelyan of Ostwick_

\---

_Varric,_

_I'm fine, Anders is fine, we're both fine. One darkspawn magister out to become a god gets loose, but me going to Weisshaupt is what worries you. And Bethany. Is it normal for Grey Wardens to wield guilt like that?_

_Of course, Anders is pretty pissy with our destination, but that's why we're stopping at "the blank" along the way. Now, if he would stop_ reading what I write over my shoulder like I don't know he's there-

_Clingy mage._

_Will write as soon as I can. Take care, and let Bianca know I miss her. Good to have in a fight._

_Cheers,_

_Alexandra_

\---

_Ambassador Montilyet,_

_I must admit, I am intrigued as to what this "marriage of convenience" represents. My focus does not lie in marriage, but an alliance would be helpful to solidify my rule after the display at Kirkwall. What truly caught my eye, however, was that the woman in question, Miss Bellatrix Faire, happens to only be_ half _Trevelyan._

_Her family must care for her, to be willing to claim yet another mage among their ranks, and an illegitimate one at that. Though I know the whispers that will run through the mill, having a half-Trevelyan wife, mage or no, would only benefit in the long run._

_First, however, I would know Miss Faire's thoughts on the matter. Is she at all open to a marriage of convenience? Or have you yet to consult her? It is important that both parties agree. Not all mages would gladly marry a former priest._

_It is comforting to see that the Inquisition may still see logic in these troubled times. May it continue to do so, in the days to come._

_Sincerely,_

_Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven._

\---

_Dear Ophelia,_

_I am writing to let you know that I have properly swallowed my pride, and admitted you were right. "A few years" does make a difference. Happy?_

_Of course you aren't, you'll want to know how things are between Anora and I. Well, despite how personal this information feels, she and I are trying for a babe, and the scribe is now smiling like an idiot. How many of you figured this out before me? No, don't write that!_

_Alright, now the scribe is mocking me._

_Anyway, I suspect that Teagan is occupying most of your time, and I have to ask; when are you two going to start "procreating" as it were? It'd be nice to see your offspring running about. Then I could spoil them and send them back home, giggling maniacally like that Elder One magister-thing. Or, at least, how I think they would. How would I know what evil magister laughs sound like?_

_Sincerely,_

_King Alistair Theirin_

_P.S.- Thanks for the cheese._

_P.P.S.- That last question was aimed at the scribe, not you._


	18. Arbor Wilds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another double chapter upload. I've been pushing myself to complete this so I can work on the sequel (yes, sequel) that I'm outlining.

The sound of the surreal, exotic birds is what really woke Bellatrix from her dreams. Once again, a desire demon approached her, with his face, using his voice, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, until she finally banished it with Winter's Grasp. Recalling those sweet nothings brought tears to her pale blue eyes, as reality clutched her with a fiery grip. Then her stomach growled.

She dressed into a pair of beige breeches, dark brown boots, a rich blue tunic and a black overcoat. She brushed out her black locks before tying them back with a faded strip of cotton, the only thing she had of her father's that survived Ostwick. She was greeted with the sound of horns blowing through the morning air as she made her way to the mess tent. Thankfully, she wasn't the only one scowling at the sudden intrusion on her senses.

"That horn could wake the dead." Seralora, an Elven scout from the Free Marches, muttered as she flopped onto the bench beside Bellatrix. Brilliant purple branches (at least, Bellatrix thought they were branches) twined over a wide forehead onto broad cheeks, and down a slim nose with a bulbous tip. Her large violet eyes (large only by non-Elven standards) were played up with darker purple eye shadow, while her lips were left unpainted. She kept her snow white hair (it was sometimes hard to believe that Seralora's hair was naturally white) pulled into a mare's tail. A bow was strapped to her back, though the Elven scout was more proficient with daggers.

"I'm pretty sure it does, Lora." Bellatrix replied, easily using her nickname for Seralora. "How else would it wake everyone's favorite apostate hobo?" This earned a peal of laughter from both women, which only doubled by the time said apostate hobo joined them. Solas gave them both a rather unhappy look before taking a sip of his tea.

"You hate tea, but you drink it anyway." Seralora gave Solas a cursory glance, like she was just seeing him for the first time. "You get a kick out of torturing yourself?"

"Perhaps I do." Solas quipped, though his eyes flicked to Bellatrix before landing back on Seralora. "I am conversing with you, am I not?"

"Touche, _hahren_ , touche." Seralora conceded as Bellatrix snorted. "Easy, Bella. You'll get a nose bleed, and then the Templars will be screeching 'blood magic!' I doubt the Lady Inquisitor is eager to save her half-sister this morning."

"You get nosebleeds, _da'assan_?" Solas blinked at her owlishly. Bellatrix nodded.

"Only when I laugh too hard." Bellatrix answered. "I got put in solitary in Ostwick because I got a nose bleed when I was sixteen. That was a headache and a half, believe you me."

Solas simply gave her a curious glance, but didn't push. It was one of the things she loved about him. He didn't push matters that he knew upset her, leading to a very easy friendship between them. She kept her attraction to him hidden (though it sometimes slipped, when they were alone in the rotunda), so as not to destroy what luck Andraste granted her.

They had been in the Arbor Wilds for the past four weeks, keeping Corypheus' army at bay, though Bellatrix was rarely involved in the fighting. The Head Medic got it in their head that all mages were expert healers, and thus kept herding her to the healer's tent, where she was forced to heal minor injuries. No matter how many times Bellatrix explained that she's a _battle mage, she doesn't do healing_...

"Hoping to see combat today?" Seralora asks, earning a nod. "Good. The Head Medic is an idiot to waylay one of the best battle mages in remaining in the Inquisition."

"And what am I, _da'len_?" Solas questions, though there is jest in his tone. Bellatrix finds herself admiring his arched brow, and when he shoots her a smug grin, she feels herself blush.

"An arrogant ass, duh." Seralora states, though Bellatrix noted her violet eyes flitting between Bellatrix and Solas. Solas rolls his eyes before turning his attention back to Bellatrix, and she quickly looks away.

_Shit_.

\---

Delrin yanked his sword out of a dead Venatori, noting his fellow Templars do the same. One of the two mages put their staff away, while the other sighed, unruly blonde curls tied back in a mare's tail. Silva turned around, her forest dress swaying in the breeze, blood running from cuts on her legs as well as the amounts covering her into the stream they stood in.

It was hard, fighting beside her, as well as fighting his instincts the moment blood splattered onto the Venatori before violently exploding. He knew that she wouldn't use it on them, but it was still... trying, fighting beside a blood mage. Especially since she had modified her dress so that only the cloth tied around her neck kept it up, exposing her arms and upper back. In the calm between fights, he has to fight the want to trace the green clouds on her arms and shoulder blades, as well as calm the Templars that fight with him.

Some members of her squad were interspersed among them. When the fighting started once more, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the way her squad-mates split to form loose circles around the two mages in their group. It spoke volumes of how they worked in the field when there was a mage in the party. None of them even flinched when Silva used her blood magic to brainwash one of the Venatori, instead focusing on those charging for her.

When the fighting ended, Silva let out a sigh, sitting unceremoniously on one of the rocks dotting the stream. He knelt down to place a kiss on her hair, only to be greeted with her nose as she tilted her head back. He blushed, and she giggled, planting her own lips on his nose.

"Dear Maker, I think my teeth are rotting." One of her squad-mates called out. "We can only handle so much sweetness, Silva!"

She sends them a rather colorful gesture, though her eyes remain transfixed on him. He finally sits down as best he can, and she places her scarred legs in his lap. He lightly massages her calf, enjoying the quiet. His fellow Templars send him confused looks, but don't voice their thoughts in her presence.

A rustle in the brush has them up and ready, swords and daggers drawn, bows strung, a staff whipped out and singing with Storm magic. Blood droplets swirled about lightly in the air before someone dressed in Inquisition regalia stepped out. Though they had their hands up, no one put their weapons down... Except Silva, who gasped.

"Isenam?" She furrows her brows, the blood droplets raining back into the stream. "I thought you were with Galifalon?"

"He's right behind me." Isenam replied. Delrin studied the Elven hunter before him hard. "The Inquisitor's just left the Temple of Mythal, and is making her way back to the main camp. The Venatori are retreating. Galifalon and I came to fetch you."

She nodded, before turning to him, her eyes expectant, a hand outstretched. He gives a nod to the remaining men, before taking her hand. His sword remains unsheathed even when they happen upon Galifalon, and is only sheathed when they arrive at the main camp.

\---

All was quiet in the Arbor Wilds, despite the tension in the air. Seralora couldn't help but knot her white brows together as she observed the Sentinels in their corner of the main camp. Their leader was absorbed in conversation with Solas (which confused her greatly, but that's beside the point), yet every so often, he would send an intense glance her way. It was enough to make her shiver, though the air was almost suffocatingly warm.

Bellatrix sat down beside her, gazing off forlornly, and it was then that Seralora noticed the black tear trails. Without saying a word, the Elf woman brought the mage into her arms, not caring about the stares some of the Sentinels sent her as they walked past. One Sentinel stopped, and fished out what looked like an extremely fancy handkerchief.

"Here. For your mage friend." They said, and Seralora accepted it. The Sentinel then sat on her other side, lowering their hood. Pale blonde curls spilled out, a myriad of tiny, beaded braids woven throughout. From this angle, she could trace the dark violet-blue lines of Mythal's vallaslin, so much more delicate and fine than her own. They trace a narrow forehead, a delicate nose, and pronounced cheeks, with a continuation under plump lips on a round chin. When they turned to face her, she noticed that one side of her head was shaved, with a short braid curling around their ear. It was their eyes, however, that were the most mystifying. Violet, ringed by dark blue, with specks of a rosy pink.

"My name is Eirlana." They introduce themselves. "Third in command of the Sentinels. It has been long since I conversed with a new member of the People. It is a shame, that your lives are so short."

"I am Seralora." She says. "Seralora Darel'banal of Clan Lavellan."

"Seralora. An odd name." Eirlana comments as Bellatrix took the handkerchief and wiped her eyes. The two elves then watched at the mage-woman whipped out her own handkerchief to blow her nose, offering Eirlana's back to her.

"Is that a wolf on your handkerchief?" Eirlana questions as she takes her handkerchief back and places it within her robes. "Curious. Whom did you get it from, if you do not mind my asking?"

"From someone very dear to me." Bellatrix said, using her magic to clean the now wet cloth. "Someone I love, that will never know how I feel, because they wouldn't dare return my feelings."

Seralora noticed the confusion on Eirlana's face, and mouthed "later," to which the Sentinel nodded.

Later, however, didn't really come until the next night... along with a pounding hangover and a rather angry Sentinel in an unfamiliar tent...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think everyone partied after the victory in the Arbor Wilds. Bella got drunk and sobbed in her tent before looking for Lora, and Lora got drunk and had a rather quite the one night stand with a certain Mr. Sorrow *wink wink nudge nudge cough cough*.
> 
> Also, Eirlana knew that Bella was a mage because plot (my favorite excuse). She also open-minded about modern Elves because plot. *insert bad poker face here*
> 
> I am unsure as to whether Seralora's parent name is accurate, but whateves. 
> 
> Only one word to translate this chapter! The meaning for hahren and da'len should be obvious by now;
> 
> Da'assan - Little arrow
> 
> Thanks be to FenxShiral.


	19. Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took liberties with the ending of the the Arbor Wilds mission. I've doing that the entire time, I know, but ah well. This entire fic is slightly AU anyway.

Persephone was massaging her marked hand as they rode through Orlais back to Skyhold. The Sentinels had parted with the Inquisition amicably, and Persephone swore that Solas sent her a hint of a smile as they departed. Miss Faire, much to her surprise, was rather bound up in a conversation with Josephine, mostly pertaining to the convenience marriage with the Prince of Starkhaven.

A brisk wind swept through, and Persephone hugged her cloak tighter to her. The cloak was fashioned after Cullen's, but in a rich pink, which suited her just fine. Sera had gotten her hands on it a few times, but the mischievous rogue hadn't sullied it too terribly (nothing that wouldn't wash out). Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cullen shoot her a look, directing his mount closer to hers. She raised a brow at him, but said nothing, raising her marked hand and making the signal for a full stop (they'd been marching since dawn without pause).

"Anyone ever mention that your eye conversations with Commander Cullen are creepy?" Genevieve asked from her mare, riding ladylike beside Gaspard. Persephone tried not to chuckle as different members of the Inquisition (her advisors in particular) gaped while Gaspard- _Emperor Gaspard de Chalons_ -helped her sister from her horse. She could see the wheels turning in Leliana's head before a tap on her thigh wrenched her attention away.

"More than once, VieVie." Persephone answered as she swung her leg over her Forder's rear, letting herself settle into Bull's awaiting hands. Dorian made an indignant sound from his Imperial Warmblood, and Persephone shook her head as the necromancer dismounted, Bull chuckling behind her. As soon as her boots touched the ground, she made her way over to Cullen.

Rather than tap his leg as Bull (or Dorian, in some cases) did, she dug her chin into his bad knee and waited. The moment pain became truly prevalent on his face, she straightened, giving him an innocent look as he sent a glower her way. That glower then turned into sheepishness when realization hit.

"Must you do that every time?" He questioned as he dismounted, her hands planted firmly on his armored hips. She pinched his bottom as his boots hit the ground, and danced away before he could retaliate.

"Maybe not every time." She replied shyly, leading her Forder over to the stream where Cassandra's Green Dales Feral stood, drinking. "You had that far-off look again. Anything I need to know?"

"Probably wondering if his hair is still combed back." Genevieve interjected with a grin. " _Merci beaucoup_ , Gaspard." Genevieve turned to face Gaspard, who gave her a devilish grin in response. When his eyes met Persephone's, she gave him a supportive smile.

She and Genevieve may fight, but having at least one of her sisters marry because it was their choice would be refreshing.

\---

"So, how long were you planning to keep your blood magic from us?" Galifalon asked Ashatarylin as they-along with Isenam and Borean-walked to a spot further along the stream the Inquisition was stopped beside. He watched as Ashatarylin looked away, embarrassment and apprehension in her eyes.

"I don't know." She answers after a pregnant pause. "Does it matter, Gali?"

"Does it, Asha?" Borean questioned, his walnut eyes boring into her storm blue. "We care about you, Asha. You know how dangerous blood magic can be if not used correctly. That's why Keeper Adahlena was against it."

"I don't use it outside of battle." Ashatarylin protests, and Galifalon felt his heart swell, just a little. If Ashatarylin didn't rely on it like a crutch, perhaps there was a way to break her from using it. "And it's not as though it will matter much longer anyway. The Elder One is on the run-again. When this is over, I will be hanged from practicing blood magic. The Order will call for my blood."

"Like this Ser Barris character will allow it." Isenam rolls his forest green eyes. "Have you seen the way he looks at you? All intense and gentle. I dare say you've found your bond-mate, Asha."

"You really think that, _vhenan_?" Galifalon asked Isenam, who flushed. Borean sighed.

"Silva!" A heavy Fereldan voice broke the pause, and the Templar in question marched over. Briefly, the Dalish hunter wondered if Ser Barris realized that he marched, rather than walked.

"Delrin." It was in the way Ashatarylin purred the Templar's name that caused Galifalon, Isenam, and Borean to exchange knowing looks. "Was there something you needed, _fenorain_?"

"Is it _fenorain_ already, _lethal'lan_?" Galifalon teased, causing Ashatarylin and Ser Barris to flush. Ser Barris gazed at Ashatarylin with strong affection as she stuck her tongue out, causing Galifalon to laugh.

If anything, the look that passed between Ashatarylin and Ser Barris was enough to give the three Dalish hunters hope that their dear friend and Clan Mate (no matter the technicality of the situation) wouldn't be facing a headman's axe when the war was truly over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had Bull help Persephone down because she can't get off a horse by herself. She falls flat on her ass if she tries. And yes, she got herself a twin Cully-Wully cloak. Also, the first few times she helped Cullen from his horse, he fell on her. At least he wasn't in full armor!
> 
> Short chapter is short, but I fizzed out writing this one. And for those wondering if Galifalon and Isenam are bonded-they are. They bonded two years before Silva left. Yes, I plan to have Genevieve and Gaspard hook up.
> 
> Just wait until the next chapter. Big surprise in store for Delrin and Silva! >:D


	20. Proposals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly didn't finish this chapter... Oops? :/
> 
> Also, I have an 8tracks profile! So, keep sending me theme songs, 'kay? :D

"So, what you're saying is that after all this ends, he's going to come... here?" Bellatrix gave Josephine an incredulous look, but the Ambassador took it all in stride. She was used to such looks.

"If you are willing to accept a marriage of convenience, Lady Bellatrix." Josephine replied smoothly. "The Prince of Starkhaven has made missteps, but from the information Leliana has collected, I believe he is a good man, doing what he thought best."

"So, his failed invasion was... what? A misstep?" Bellatrix snorted. "Don't make me laugh, Ambassador. That was an attempt at petty revenge, plain and simple. He wanted to lure out the Champion of Kirkwall because she wouldn't kill the guy who blew up the Kirkwall Chantry. And he's supposed to be a "good man?""

"Either way, the question stands, Lady Bellatrix." Josephine stated diplomatically, unlacing then relacing her fingers. Bellatrix sighed, running a hand through her currently loose hair. Josephine patiently waited.

"Alright." Bellatrix finally acquiesced with a short, almost forced chuckle. "Alright. I accept. Tell the Prince of Starkhaven he'll soon have a wife."

Josephine simply nodded, a smile on her lips as Bellatrix departed from the antechamber, penning a quick reply to the Prince of Starkhaven and handing it to one of the runners to be dispatched post-haste. That's one matter settled, at least.

\---

"He what?" Evelyn giggled girlishly as she sat with VieVie in Skyhold's gardens. Purse had left some time ago with the Witch (for lack of a better title) and a few others, leaving the two sisters to gossip. "He asked to court you?"

"Bold, isn't he?" VieVie nodded, and Evelyn could practically see her twin swoon. "Honestly, who would think the Emperor of Orlais would take an interest in me? I thought he'd be hanging on Purse for sure, desperate to be her arm candy. I never would have thought he'd be interested in courting me."

"Let me guess, he's just that charming?" Evelyn teased, watching her sister turn red and laughing at the proceeding smack on her arm. "Come now, VieVie, you know how you sound! Like with that Sebastian boy. You went on for days about how charming, handsome, smart, bold-"

"I was 17, Evie!" VieVie protested, laughing. "I thought I was in love! At any rate, Gaspard is much more mature, and certainly more charming, as you put it. Speaking of romance... do you think the Commander will propose to Purse after all this?"

"It'll be a miracle if he does." Evelyn replied with a snort. "At any rate, I wonder just whether or not our new sister will accept that proposal from the Prince of Starkhaven. Do we even know who he is?"

"Well, don't look at me!" VieVie stated with a huff, crossing her arms. "And, anyway, I'm wondering about Ser Barris and Miss Maleficus. You know that's heading for a heartbreak."

"Perhaps." Evelyn conceded. "I suppose we'll see."

The two spent the rest of the afternoon talking among themselves, until it was time for supper.

\---

Delrin sighed, his hand clenching around a small, round object, the sole gem attached to it anchoring him for a second. He stood outside Silva's room, and had been for a while. He knew it was now or never, especially so since the Inquisitor was meeting more and more often with her War Council. If he didn't, Silva would surely be executing for practicing blood magic.

Nodding to himself, he knocked on the door, two, three raps.

"Yes?" Silva opened the door, clad only in her breast-band, leggings, and a pair of boots. "Delrin, come in." She stood to the side, allowing him to enter. Closing the door behind her, she raised a blonde brow.

"Silva, have you at all given thought to what you'd do after..." He blurted, his thoughts half-formed. That was not how he planned to start this.

"I thought we were clear on that, _fenorain_." She replies, leaning against the door, crossing her marked arms. "I'm a blood mage, and your Chantry won't stand for my existence now that I've been outed."

"Silva-bear, it doesn't have to be that way." He says calmly. "What if I told you I have a solution? Not the greatest one, but a solution?"

"Something that gets me out of an execution?" She snorts, gesturing to him before recrossing her arms. "Let's hear it, _fenorain_."

With a nod, Delrin steps forward, "Ashatarylin, Silva Maleficus, Silva-bear. You are the only woman I've the pleasure of meeting that's disarmed me so completely. You are a sinner and saint both, and there's no doubt in my mind that you don't deserve the fate that may await you when this ends." Her eyes widen at the use of her true name, even more so as he gets to one knee. "So, Silva-bear, will you do me the honor of being my bride?"

Time stops, he swears it, as he opens his hand to reveal the ring in his hand. The other grasps a hand as her arms uncross, lips forming a perfect O. A few minutes pause, and her face contorts in rage, and she smacks the ring out of his hand. The other is wrenched from his grasp.

"That is your solution?!" She cries, and he rushes to fetch the ring. "I will not marry out of pity, Delrin Barris! _Fenehdis_! What do you take me for?"

"Silva-bear..." He says, trying to calm her, but that angers her more. He can see the tears running down her cheeks, in contrast with the bloody murder in her eyes, and venom on her tongue.

"Do I really mean so little to you?" Her voice cracks, and he flinches inwardly. "When you mean it, maybe then I'll believe you. Until then..." She steps away from the door, and it flings open, almost of it's own volition. "Leave. Just... leave."

He almost says something as he moves to the door, mechanical. He can see her shacking, and the door slams the moment he's in the hall. He marches to the barracks, and sits down on his cot, staring blankly at the ring in his hands.

"Shot you down, didn't she?" He hears Fletcher comment, sitting across from him. "Are you really sure she's worth risking your neck, Delrin? What happened to that cool head of yours?"

"She's worth any cost, Fletcher." Delrin answered immediately. "I mean... I... She..."

"Yup, you've got it bad." Fletcher let out a low whistle, chuckling when Delrin gave him a confused look. "You're in love, ya big lug. I wouldn't have picked a blood mage to fall for, but if that's who you're gonna break your heart over..."

"What makes you think that, Fletch?" Delrin raised a brow, and Fletcher shrugged.

"Just be prepared, Delrin." Fletcher warned as he worked his way out of his armor. "The Chantry will raise a big stink over this if you don't have the Lady Inquisitor's blessing."

"I know, Fletch." Delrin said as he, too, prepared for bed, putting the ring in a velvet box and burying it in his trunk. "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: *writes "heading for a heartbreak" in VieVie's dialogue*  
> Also Me: HEADING FOR A HEARTBREEEAAAAAAAK!
> 
> EDIT: I made a playlist for Silva and Delrin! :D Check it out!
> 
> http://8tracks.com/kanratheteddyb3ar/the-templar-his-blood-mage 


	21. Blessings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so ready for this fic to end. If I can figure out a way to not include another letter interlude, it'd be a miracle.

"No." Cullen said firmly from Persephone's door. "No, you are not seeing Perseph-I mean, the Inquisitor. She needs her rest."

"I'm well aware that she might, Commander." Ser Barris said, his voice cool. "You may wish to practice what you preach. The last thing I expected was to see the Commander of the Inquisition in his small clothes."

Cullen heard Persephone laugh from the top of the stairs, and he sighed, fighting the color on his cheeks as he hurried up the steps, leaving the door open for Barris. Pulling open the door to her wardrobe, he stepped in, grabbing and pulling on his spare breeches, since his other pair had been destroyed. Not that he minded, of course...

"So, what was it you wanted, Ser Barris?" He heard Persephone's light footsteps on the myriad of rugs that littered her quarters. Exiting the wardrobe, Cullen retrieved his socks and boots, sitting on the couch as Persephone sat at her desk, arms crossed to keep the sheer robe Josephine gave her closed.

"I need your blessing, Lady Inquisitor." Ser Barris said after a measured pause. "I plan to make Miss Maleficus my wife, but, given her circumstances-"

"That's what you want?" Persephone questioned, her tone incredulous. "Granted, gladly. Of course, to make everyone else happy, there will be stipulations."

"You're not really agreeing?" Cullen stood up, his boots finally laced, honey brown boring into questioning teal. "Inquisitor..."

"I said stipulations, Cullen." Persephone reprimanded him, tucking a lock of her short auburn bob behind her ear. "Mine is that she stop all public blood magic use. Cullen?"

"That a phylactery be made for her." Cullen suggested. "It'll placate the Chantry, at the very least."

"So long as it's kept with me." Ser Barris stated, his tone brooking no argument. "Are these the only stipulations?"

"So far? Probably." Persephone shrugged, standing up. "Shall I show you to the door?"

"No, no, Lady Inquisitor." Ser Barris bowed his head, leaving Persephone's quarters. Cullen sighed, walking around her desk to plant a kiss on her lips.

"This day can't end soon enough." He murmurs, admiring the way her lips curl into a smile against his.

"It's only just begun, darling."

\---

Bellatrix stared blankly from her place on the couch in the rotunda. Solas was bent over some book about the Fade (what else) and Seralora was attempting to put a flower crown on his head.

The keyword? _Attempting._ It seemed no matter how she placed it on the bald elf's head, it would bounce straight into her hands. The frustration was apparent on Lora's face as she screwed up her mouth, placing it once more on his head. It immediately bounced into her hands, and Bellatrix, lifting her head, definitely  _saw_  the smirk on his full lips.

"Smug apostate hobo." She said, sitting up. Lora snorted, dropping the flower crown as she dissolved into a fit of giggles. Solas sat up and gave Bellatrix a frown, but she saw the twinkle in his blue eyes. Her heart swooned, and she tried to keep it from showing on her face. After the Arbor Wilds, she barely said anything that wasn't monosyllabic to him. This was progress. Kinda.

"Is it a crime to wear flower crowns?" Lora questioned as she recovered. "Hey, Peacock!"

"My name is Dorian, Miss Lavellan." Dorian called from above, appearing over the railing a few minutes later.

"But your last name is "Peacock" in Ancient Tevene!" Lora called back. "That's not the point, anyway. Is it a crime to wear flower crowns?"

"Why are you asking me?" Dorian questioned, and Bellatrix would've laughed if she'd wanted to. Persephone had found an enchanted flower crown while in Emprise Du Lion, and Dorian had jumped at the chance to wear it. Literally, since Persephone had hung it from The Iron Bull's horn, and the Qunari had teased the Tevinter altus by making him jump for it.

"Answer the question, Peacock." Lora rolled her eyes, tapping her foot in impatience.

"No, I suppose it isn't." Dorian sighed in defeat. It was apparent from his tone that he would never win the Name Argument. "May I go?"

"Sure, you can go ride Bull." Lora said, laughing at the look Dorian gave her before speed-walking away from the railing. "Will you let me put the flower crown on you now, _hahren_?"

"No, _da'len._ " Solas said with an eye roll, picking up the flower crown.

"Honestly, what were you thinking?" Bellatrix stood up, giving Lora a mock serious stare as she walked over to Solas' desk. "Apostate hobos and flower crowns don't mix."

"No, but Snowstorms and flower crowns do." Solas stated confidently, placing the crown on her head. She froze, her eyes going wide. Seeing the soft look in his eyes as he muttered, "Beautiful," didn't help matters, either. Was he teasing her? Did he know?

Then again, how could he not? With all the hints she's both unknowingly and knowingly dropped, it wasn't hard to guess just how hard she'd fallen for him. The blush she felt consume her cheeks spoke volumes. Her heart pounded as he lowered his arms, the crown, no doubt, spelled in place.

"Well, we should go." Lora hooked her arm through Bellatrix's own. "Really, it's a blessing you tolerated my antics at all, _hahren_." Was it just her, or was the look Lora was sending Solas actually... threatening?

"Of course." Solas said, mask in place, as Lora led Bellatrix away. But, looking back, she saw the lonely look in his eyes, a full reflection of the same loneliness in her.

\---

Silva sat on the floor, next to Dorian's chair, a book in hand. Dorian sat in the chair, observing her wrist. Was it healed completely? Yes. Was the _vallaslin_ still there? Miraculously, yes. Knew the Tevinter magister was fascinated with the markings, so she'd gone to him. The odd kinship developed was secondary.

"I never would have guessed you'd be interested in necromancy." He noted, her hand turned over once more. "Not to keen on blood magic these days?"

"Is it truly a bad thing I spend my final days learning about other kinds of magic?" A harmless question, earns a disapproving chuckle. "Necromancy is rather... fascinating, that's the word."

"Trouble with Common again, Greensleeves?" He teases, her field name now a nickname. "By the way, that little title you gave me... What does it mean?"

" _Dinathe'dirthelan_?" Raises a brow. "It means "one who talks to the dead." The Elven title for necromancers. Since I use blood magic, I would be _Lin'thanelan_ -one who wields blood."

"What about the other mages in the Inquisition?" Feels his probing fingers freeze, but she giggles all the same.

"Sure, why not?" Looks back and up to flash a reassuring smile before staring out the window. "Let's see... Madame De Fer would be _Panathe'virelan_ -Battle walker. Though her style has roots in that of Arcane Warriors, I don't feel... comfortable referring to her as one. _Panathe'virelan_ seems more her style."

"What about Evelyn Trevelyan?"

"From what I hear, she's studying to be _Ladarelan'elgar_." Wrist is released, she re-positions herself to face him. " It means "one who heals spirits." Next."

"Bellatrix Faire."

"Same as Madame De Fer. Are you even trying, _Dinathe'dirthelan_?"

"Solas."

" _Sou'i've'an'thanelan_. One who wields the energy of the Beyond, or the Fade, as you call it."

"Okay, here's a hard one: The Lady Amell."

Quiet, for a moment, before answering, " _Ena'sal'in'amelan_. One who protects victory. I heard she learned the discipline while traveling with the Hero of Ferelden, and she's the only mage I can think of that deserves that title."

"And the discipline is...?"

"The Arcane Warrior discipline. It goes all the way back to the days of Elvhenan. A lot of the titles do, but they're rarely spoken, mostly written. All the Elven I know, I learned from Keeper."

"Which are you more fluent in?" Curiosity sparkled, rapt in his attention, the dig into her past. Were once she would have been guarded, she found herself open, at least a little.

"Common, with some broken Elven mixed in." Admits this with a shrug. "I had no idea anyone outside the Dalish thought it was weird. The titles and disciplines I learned of during the Arlathvhen. No easy task, given that most saw me as some _shem_." Spits the insult, it doesn't apply to her. Never did.

"Why did the Dalish raise you?" A natural question, but it wounds all the same. One story she wouldn't divulge for anything. 

Thankfully, the Inquisitor approaches, flower crown in one hand. Stops, a smile on her lips, "Feel like going to the Forbidden Oasis? I've already convinced Bull and BlackRain."

Conversation ends as Dorian leaves, and Silva heads up to the rookery. Some field work in her last days should be good. The fact that she can avoid Delrin is secondary. Mostly.

\---

Lora stood in front of Solas, glaring at him, and he pointedly ignoring her. It was enough for her to tear her hair out. She let out an angry sigh, and she saw his shoulders sag.

"Dammit, _hahren_ , you know why I'm here." She spat, fighting the urge to slam her palms on his desk. "Stop teasing her."

"Whom are you speaking of, _da'len_?" He asks, and she nearly sees red.

"Bellatrix, you complete and utter ass!" She hisses, willing her eyes to harden. "You had the gall to tease and mock her in front of me. Me! She's my best friend in this Creators'-forsaken world, and I will not stand by and watch you rip her heart to shreds like a wolf relishing a kill."

"I am her friend as well, _da'len_." He says methodically. "I've also no idea why I would be ripping her heart to shreds."

"Dammit, Solas! You know how she feels!" She cries, uncaring of who would hear. "You can't just tease her and not expect her to break! Hell, she already broke! Almost every night, she has to fight off Desire demons _because of you_. Do you have any idea what you've done to her?"

"Just what are you talking about, Lora?" He questions, but she sees the flicker in his eyes. That's when it hit her. A sudden revelation that shocks her to her very core.

When she answers, she answers in Elven. His eyes widen and dart, but she knows she's won.

"I won't tell her, _lethal'len_." She says, her voice soft and gentle, like a mother soothing a child. Ironic, in some way. "Consider it my blessing."

" _Ma_ _serannas_ , _lethal'lin_." He answers, voice low, almost mournful. 

Lora tilted her head, regarding him for a moment. All she saw was a lonely man, one who had known loneliness for far too long. Perhaps that's what Bellatrix saw in him. They were the same in that aspect.

They'd both been lonely for far too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've probably made it obvious, but how Solas feels about Bellatrix should be the epitome of obvious now. If you do get it, DON'T SAY IT IN THE COMMENTS. I want it to be a surprise ;P
> 
> Oh, and before you ask, Persephone was wearing a nightgown beneath her robe. Duh.


	22. Good-byes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna do a bulk upload, so be prepared! This fic is pretty much d-u-n done! :D

Isenam could see the sadness in Ashatarylin's eyes as they stood before the drawbridge, adjusting their packs on the harts that the Inquisitor had gifted them. Borean, Galifalon, and he had been her anchor after The Proposal Incident. Ser Barris wasn't around, but it was just as well. Asha wouldn't have wanted to see him, anyway.

"We'll write you, Asha. You know we will." Isenam said, pulling his clan-mate in for another hug. "You'll always have a home with Alasvhen."

"Truly?" She asks, her voice breaking. The three Elven hunters nodded, each pulling her in for an embrace. There was something truly sad in this good-bye.

" _Dareth Shiral, lethal'lan_." The three echoed, and Isenam reached out to wipe a tear from Ashatarylin's cheek.

" _Dareth Shiral_." She murmured, watching the three Elves as they mounted their harts, and left Skyhold.

"Do you suppose one of us should have stayed, _vhenan_?" Isenam asked Galifalon as the harts climbed down the treacherous path into the valley below. 

"Perhaps, _vhenan_ , perhaps." Galifalon shrugged. "But would she be happier that way?"

"It's best we get going." Borean interrupted them, farther up the path. "Asha would want to sort this out for herself. We all know how she is."

\---

Maxwell sighed, once again brushing his auburn hair behind his ears. Hanwyn would tell him to pull it back, ever the domineering twin. He loved his brother, but Hanwyn was always a bit of a stick in the mud. What Annabelle saw in him, he'd never know.

"Ser Trevelyan?" A rather familiar Fereldan voice sounded from the door of his quarters. He turned to find none other than Ser Barris at the door.

"Yes, Ser Barris?" He raised a brow, flashing a roguish grin. "Need help with your lady love?"

"Well, yes." Ser Barris looked rather flustered. "How, exactly, does one apologize to a woman?"

"Well, there's the usual, of course." Maxwell said with a shrug. "Flowers, chocolates, promises you don't intend to keep... But I doubt you're here for those. What, exactly, did you do to upset the fair lady?"

"I proposed."

"Uh... huh."

"Marrying me would keep her from execution. Can't she see that she doesn't have to die when this ends?"

"Ah, I see. You proposed without meaning it."

"I beg your pardon?" Ser Barris didn't bother to hide his disgust with Maxwell, which he found rather funny. "I meant every word of that proposal. I refuse to love and then lose her for her choices, no matter how against those choices I'm meant to be!"

"Prove it to her, then." Maxwell said. "Now, before you get angry, hear me out. I doubt you proposed in public, otherwise it'd be all over Skyhold-like my weakness for brunettes. There's your first mistake. Your second is that you proposed as a way to get her _out of an execution_."

"What do you suggest I do, then?"

"Propose in public, first of all. Put her above your reputation. Don't ask her to marry you as a last-ditch effort to get out of an execution. Do you want the woman in your life or not?"

"Yes, I do, but-"

"Then prove it. Make your relationship public. Proclaim it from my sister's balcony for all I care. Show this woman that you will bend over backwards just as much for her as she does for you. Trust me, I know all about not bending when I should have."

It was how he'd lost Mina.

\---

Bellatrix rolled her eyes at the display Lady Genevieve put on. She caught sight of Lady Evelyn doing the same, and the two mages grinned. Bellatrix then froze as a hand landed on her shoulder. She looked up into the teal eyes of her elder half-brother, Ser Hanwyn, who gave her what she believed was meant to be a friendly smile.

"Just think, now you're a part of this." He said, gesturing to his brother and younger sisters. "Are you prepared for all that, Trixie?"

"Trixie?" She wrinkled her nose. "Please, don't ever refer to me as that again. "Trixie" is a name given to a pet. You can call me Bella, if it pleases you."

"Fiery and polite?" Ser Maxwell spoke, sidling up to her. "Where, oh where, did Purse find you?"

"Maxie, leave Bella alone. That is your nickname, right?" Lady Evelyn called, giving her sister a pat before heading over. "I remember seeing you in Ostwick. You trained under Senior Enchanter Lydia, right? What happened to her?"

"She's dead." Bellatrix said flatly. "Killed by one of her younger students, when we were escaping the chaos. I barely had time to get the other children out of the Circle. There were 15 children, plus myself and Yvette, when we left Ostwick for Redcliffe. Five of the younger ones died on the journey to Ferelden. Three more, plus Yvette, in a Templar ambush. Two were kidnapped by bandits when we entered the Hinterlands one night, and I found their heads on stakes on the road to Redcliffe."

"I'm so sorry, Bella." Lady Evelyn replied, a sad smile on her lips. "She was a good woman, one of the best, really. A true Circle mage. At any rate, I'm sure she'd be proud of the person you are."

"Maybe. She and I disagreed on a lot of things." Bellatrix answered with a shrug. "You all should be going, anyway. Don't want to miss your carriage."

"Oh yeah." Sers Hanwyn and Maxwell chimed in unison, both getting a contemplative look on their faces. Lady Evelyn giggled, and Bellatrix spotted Lady Genevieve roll her eyes. That was when the Inquisitor appeared, like a sudden breath of wind.

"Hannie, Maxie, you're not giving Miss Faire too much trouble, are you?" It amazed Bellatrix that Her Worship continued to refer to her as "Miss Faire." Perhaps she was trying to make her more comfortable with being part of such a large family?

"Not at all, dearest Purse." Lady Genevieve butted in, wrapping her arms around her brothers. "Hannie and Maxie were heading to the carriage to help with all my trunks, right?" She phrased the question as a statement, and the elder twins each patted Bellatrix on the shoulder before Lady Genevieve wrapped her arms around the unsuspecting mage.

"Do take care of yourself, Bella." Lady Genevieve pulled back, a smile on her red lips. "I know it'll take some getting used to, but don't hesitate to write me if you feel the need. I could get you in touch with my seamstress for your marriage."

"Thank you, Lady Genevieve." Bellatrix stated with a nod. Lady Genevieve laughed.

"Please, call me Genevieve or VieVie." The auburnette grinned. "For better or worse, we're sisters now! No need with the formality."

"VieVie! We're leaving!" Ser Hanwyn called from the carriage, and Genevieve gave Her Worship a quick hug before dashing off.

"Now, I need to go see the War Council. See you around, Bella." Her Worship gave Bellatrix a pat before heading off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Mina" that is mentioned is Wilhelmina Storg, a lady of Ostwick. She married another man because Maxie wasn't willing to bend. He'd been absolutely nuts about her.


	23. Interlude 3

*A letter sits in a bin beside Solas' desk in the rotunda. If one where to pick it up, it would read thusly*:

~~_Miss Faire_ ~~   
~~~~

~~_Bellatrix Faire_ ~~   
~~~~

~~_Snowstorm_ ~~

_Bellatrix,_

_Though I have written this letter a thousand times, putting it to paper is rather an issue. You are a dear friend, and an adept debater. Thus,_ _what I have to write is rather difficult._

_I have noticed your attraction for some time, the steadily growing feelings. ~~If I were anyone else~~_   
~~~~

~~_I wish I d_ ~~   
~~~~

~~_I wish I_ ~~   
~~~~

~~_I wish_ ~~   
~~~~

~~_I_ ~~

~~_There is a glen in_ ~~   
~~~~

~~_There is a glen_ ~~   
~~~~

~~_Come to the_ ~~

*The letter ends there*

\---

_My Dear Genevieve,_

_Though I detest the Game, I must admit, you play beautifully. Even more lovely than your little sister had. Perhaps I should thank her twice over. Not only am I now the rightful Emperor of Orlais, I have been introduced to you. A more lovely creature I have not met._

_I do hope that you will stop by the Imperial Palace before heading back to Ostwick. Already, I find myself coveting your company. See what you have done to me,_ ma chère dame _? The ladies of the Imperial Court shall be in a tizzy once they find out. And, of course, they shall. I will proclaim it myself, if you will it. Or shall we keep it secret until your visit?_

_I wait on bated breath,_ mon cher _._

_Yours,_

_Gaspard de Chalons, Emperor of Orlais_

\---

_Lady Liviette Trevelyan of Ostwick,_

_I've read your letter a hundred times, enough that I could recite in my sleep. And I think it best that we meet face to face. There are things I wish to say, and questions that I have, that I just can't put to ink, even if I wished to._

_You know, my father never stopped caring about you. Sure, he courted other women, but none of them wanted a man that had a child. And the one woman that did ended up marrying some merchant. He was rather cheery when she told him. It was as if he had some weight lifted from his shoulders. They're still good friends, from what he tells me._

_That wasn't the point of this letter, though. The point is, I wish to meet. Preferably after the business with the Elder One is done. After all, it's only right that I be able to meet my mother._

_Sincerely,_

_Bellatrix Anne Faire of Starkhaven, Mage of the Ostwick Circle_

_P.S. - I do understand your decision. It seems I shall be exposed to the nobility anyway._

\---

_Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven,_

_Arrangements for your arrival are already being prepared. The Inquisition looks forward to your arrival._

_Ambassador Montilyet_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DO Y'ALL KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO WRITE FOR THE EGG, HOLY SHIT!


	24. Stay with Me

"Solas?" Persephone furrows her brows, having not expected him to be there. He was wearing the exact same traveling gear he wore when they first met. The staff she'd given him was strangely absent, however.

"The orb..." He replied, his voice barely above a whisper. She frowned. The recovery of the orb had been everything to Solas, so seeing it in pieces was quite the blow.

"Are you sure? We could take the pieces, try to..."

"That would not recover what has been lost." His words are true, but harsh. Said quickly, to kill any hope at the stem. They cut deep, and she is taken aback for a moment. He stands, and turns, masking away the mournful look on his face. In that moment, Persephone wanted only to cry. 

"Inquisitor? Are you alive?" She hears Cassandra call, just when she goes to say more. Solas makes a shooing motion, and she departs, picking up her mostly intact bow and near empty quiver as she makes her way to Cassandra.

She barely pays attention to the following conversation, just grateful to see that her companions are alright. When Cassandra questions what happens next, she takes a moment to consider. Turning around, she notices that Solas is gone, as though he were never there. It's... eerie, to say the least.

"We go back to Skyhold." She states, climbing down the stairs.

"You had me scared to death, _amicus_." Dorian muttered, pulling her into a hug. He then backed away, only to be pulled into one of Bull's famous (or infamous) bear hugs. Though Dorian managed to look accosted, Persephone could see the pleasure the altus took in it.

"Sorry to scare you, Dorian."

One by one, each of the remaining companions-with the exceptions of Vivienne, Cole, and Morrigan-gave her a pat on the back, or a flat out embrace. As they made their way out of the Valley of Sacred Ashes, she noticed Scout Harding sending a raven off to Skyhold, most likely with a report. 

In that moment, she desperately missed Cullen. Hopefully, they wouldn't be delayed on the way to Skyhold.

\---

Delrin stood at the head of a small contingent of Templars, keeping watch over the cheering throngs of Skyhold as the Inquisitor and her companions meandered through the gates. The companions themselves stopped at the foot of the steps in the lower courtyard, watching as the Inquisitor ascended to were her advisers stood.

All of Skyhold erupted into more cheers as Commander Cullen wrapped his arms tightly around the Inquisitor, his relief evident. Looking across the upper courtyard, his eyes met and locked with Silva's. It was only when Fletcher nudged him that he realized that he was being invited inside.

He didn't notice Silva had walked in until he caught sight of her, laughing at something Master Tethras has said. In a black evening gown with short lace sleeves, he noted that the back plunged down to her waist line, exposing a majority of her back, and the _vallaslin_ on her shoulder blades. Her blonde curls were loose, and bounced with every minuscule movement of her head.

Reaching into his cloak pockets, he pulled out the ring he'd proposed to her with so many nights ago. Gripping it tightly, he all but marched over to Silva. Clearing his throat, he nearly lost the ability to speak, noting the berry lip-stain she had applied.

"Silva Maleficus." He said, more than loud enough for all in the hall to hear. "I know that I asked you this once before, but I'm going to ask again. This time, know that I mean it, with all my heart, when I ask; Will you marry me?"

One could hear a pin drop, it was so quiet, as Delrin once again presented the ring to Silva. Tears welled up in her eyes as she stared at the ring, then at him.

"Took you long enough." She said with a wet laugh. "Are you sure that's what you want? To marry a blood mage? Surely there are stipulations..."

"Would you just say yes to the poor man, already?" Master Tethras chimed behind her, and Silva gave another wet laugh.

"Yes..." She said, nodding. A few claps and some cheers went up as he slipped the ring on her finger, catcalls being made as he brought her in for a kiss.

Many would think she cast some spell, some would say that he'd lost his cool head, or that he was always this insane. It didn't matter to Ser Delrin Barris, Knight-Commander of the Templar Order.

Silva Maleficus was his, and _no one_ would tear them apart. Now, or ever.

\---

As the party went on in Skyhold, Bellatrix stood on the bridge, wearing a blue lace tunic with black breeches, and thigh-high black boots. Her hair was pulled back into a half-mare's tail, which was being wildly blown about by the night winds coming off the mountains. Most would be freezing, but this was comfortable for her. Outwardly, she looked lost in thought, but otherwise fine.

Inwardly, she was frozen.

The orb that Solas had wanted was gone, and so was he. With him, her chance to admit how she really feels. The love she realized she bears for him. It had hit her like a lightening bolt to the gut after the flower crown debacle, when she was sitting in the bath-house, looking at her reflection, flower crown and all. 

When Lora told her what Sister Leliana said about Solas, Bellatrix felt herself crumble into a million shining pieces. And now, she stood on the bridge, hoping, praying, that he would return to her. She's never, ever been pious, that much is true, but she swears that she would give anything to whoever is listening if it meant having Solas return, that she might confess her feelings.

"You'll freeze, _da'assan_." An all-too familiar voice says behind her, and she does her best not to jump. Slowly, she turns, her eyes meeting and locking with Solas'. He has a hood, hiding his ears, and he seems... younger, under the moonlight. "I came to say good-bye."

"I know." She says with a nod. "The Elder One is defeated for now. I know you wanted the orb saved... I'm so sorry."

"It is not... your fault." He replies with some difficulty. "Why are you not celebrating?"

"I don't see a reason to." She states honestly. "I'm not in a celebratory mood. How can I, when someone I care for is leaving?"

"We shall always be friends, _da'assan_." He reassures, but it sounds like he's trying to convince himself of that. What was he hiding from her?

"Friends..." She echoes, biting her lip. "My feelings go beyond friendship, Solas. You, of all people, should see that."

"I know, _da'assan_." Again, that mournful tone. It causes her eyes to widen, anyway.

"Stay with me!" She blurts, her heart pushing forth the words like a great waterfall. "Please, don't leave me, not now. I love you!"

The world stops. She realizes that she's grabbed his hands, her hands covered in a layer of frost. She goes to release them, when an answering cold pours over her. It's when Solas' own frost-covered hands brush a tear from her cheek that she realizes that she was crying. The feel of his aura encompassing hers is enough to truly bring out the waterworks. He holds her as she sobs, tears turning to ice on his jacket. 

Without thinking, she lifts her head, and presses her lips to his, letting her love for him flow into her aura. She wraps her arms firmly around him, her hands landing on his head, nails lightly scratching his scalp through the hood.

The response from his aura alone is... overpowering. It makes her all the more mournful, even as he returns her kiss, tongue flicking over her bottom lip, and granted access readily. In the back of her mind, she thinks that she never would have taken him as one to use tongue. That thought is drowned in the emotion flowing through the two mages. The part of the bridge they stand on turns to ice, and Solas slowly pulls away, that mournful look returning.

"Stay..." She murmurs, lowering her hands.

"I cannot." He answers, and her heart shatters once more. He reaches behind him, one arm wrapped around her waist, and pulls out a long, dual-leather cord. A wolf jawbone hangs at the end, this one starkly white, rather than the black one he wears.

"A gift..." He says, placing the necklace on her shoulders. The jawbone hangs in the middle of her abdomen, and she lifts her hair up so that the leather cord stays wrapped around her neck. "I meant to give it to you before leaving, but I had... other duties."

"I love you." She proclaims in a soft tone, placing one last tender kiss to his lips. "Never forget that."

" _Ar lath ma, vhenan_." He replied, his lips landing on her brow in a silent, heart-shattering farewell. Her eyes slipped close, and when she opened them, he was gone, the jawbone on her neck the only proof he'd been there. She fell to her knees, letting out a pained wail, crying the last of her tears.

A hand fell on her shoulder, and she looked up into a pair of kind, vibrant blue eyes. This man was a stranger, but he pulled her up to her feet anyway, letting her tears stain his too-white armor. She accept his handkerchief when she finishes, wiping away the tear stains on her face.

"And you are?" He asks, and she recognizes the familiar cadence of a fellow Starkhavener.

"Bellatrix." She gives a watery smile, handing back the handkerchief. "Thank you, for that."

"Bellatrix? I am Sebastian." Sebastian's smile is warm and open. "Your betrothed, as it were. I take it the Elven man was a paramour of yours?"

"I... Yes." She nods. Sebastian is unlike the man she had imagined thus far. 

He doesn't say anything more, just leads her back into Skyhold. She could never love him, but maybe, maybe, she could be fond of him. Yes, fond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed reading Greensleeves as much as I had writing it. Believe it or not, I haven't played all three games. I played Origins and Inquisition, but only the base games. I haven't played any of the DLCs, nor the base game for DA2, so.... yeah. I went off playthroughs on YouTube.
> 
> I want to thank the lovely Marika_Haliwell for all the hilarious feedback. Seriously, I thrive on that.
> 
> Anyway, if anyone is interesting in the weird-ass playlist I made for Solas and Bella, you can listen to it here: http://8tracks.com/kanratheteddyb3ar/snowstorm-chuckles
> 
> Guysssssss! I made a blog on Tumblr! http://greensleeves-writer.tumblr.com/  
> Thanks for reading! :3


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